Truthfully
by Salazarfalcon
Summary: Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed, it was just too bad that Midgard ended up being so distracting. Who knew that such a primitive society would have such a novel concept as therapy?
1. Pyrite

Truthfully

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><p>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<p>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Author's Note: Okay, so. This is still being posted on the kink meme, but for the sake of efficiency, I've decided to start posting actual chapters, editing along the way and cleaning them up. If you've read this before, I sincerely hope that you've enjoyed it. If you haven't, hopefully it will strike your fancy.<p>

ALSO, if I'm on your author alert list for my Glee fics and you're pissed that I'm writing for another fandom right now? There will be more of those too, I promise, including but not limited to some **Limits** one-shots.

One more note. Because this is initially posted on livejournal as comments, each section is going to be short. This allows me to update quickly, but these chapters will probably not be particularly lengthy.

On with the show!

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><p>"I really don't know what I'm doing here."<p>

"I think you do, otherwise you wouldn't have even bothered."

From where he sat in the plush and altogether entirely too comfortable chair, Loki narrowed his eyes and scowled at the woman seated but a few feet away. She wore rectangular glasses that would have made her look stern if not for the fact that her hair was red and wild and not stern in the slightest and Loki could appreciate that she clearly went out of her way to make a confusing impression. He could appreciate that a lot.

Still.

"No, I really don't."

"Mhmm, because you were mind-controlled into walking into my office, setting up an appointment with my receptionist, and waiting until I was available to see you. That must be it, clearly."

Insufferable woman.

Loki glared at her for a good three minutes until Doctor Moran furrowed her brows at him.

"Look, Mr. Odinss—"

"Loki," he interrupted her, unable to even hear the name that he'd put down on his form without thinking about it, "Just Loki."

"Loki, then. Why did you want to see me?"

Loki looked away, green eyes fixing on the painting on the wall just over her head and partially covered by her considerable hair.

"I just…" he broke off, annoyed and frustrated but a reason that he couldn't name. What was he going to say? That most of the time, he felt like his vision was constantly being blurred by rages he couldn't quite get a handle on? That he didn't know what to do with himself that didn't have to do with subjugation and destruction? That he'd always thought his father's emotional unavailability was because of _him_ and not because of something he couldn't control? Apparently, his face said something that the doctor recognized, because she smiled at him and leaned back.

That smile was so knowing and gentle that he hurt and he wanted to rip it off her face.

"Take your time, Loki."

"I just…where I'm from, there aren't any people who study the minds and feelings of others. The sanity of others." This was very true, for there were no 'therapists' in Asgard. "I wonder now if there's always been something wrong with me that might have been fixable at one point in time if there had been." He met her eyes briefly and looked away, feeling something tight in his chest that for once didn't feel like anger. He didn't know why he was even here, didn't know why he'd bothered walking in here, didn't know why he wasn't out there, destroying everything that his moronic older brother loved so much about this world.

Oh, wait. The doctor was speaking.

"Loki, before we get started, I need you to listen to something very important. To need to be fixed means that you're broken, and broken people don't seek out help. You have and you will get it from me, I promise. I will do my very best to give you the help that you need and to get you feeling better. But I need several things from you first." Her voice was soft as though she were speaking to a wounded animal but the words were fierce, something else that Loki could appreciate.

"The payment—"

"No, not that just yet."

Green eyes blinked.

"I need two things from you."

"…what?"

"I need your honesty and I need your trust."

Against his volition, Loki worried his lower lip between his teeth and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"High order," he breathed, "I'm not the trusting sort. Not really the honest sort either." Loki the Liesmith, Loki the Silvertongue, indeed.

Doctor Moran smiled at him, adjusting her glasses on her face.

"Just do your best. We'll try and keep this first session light, okay? We'll talk about you and I'll ask you a few questions about yourself, and we'll see what you need to help you. Let's start by just talking. Talk about anything, anything at all. I won't judge you."

Loki shot her some intense side-eye, a dubious, questioning look on his face. He doubted that intensely.

"What is it?"

"Can we just start with the questions?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically rambling and openly tense.

"Alright, then. Tell me about the members of your family."

Loki froze.

"Um…something else?"

"How would you describe your childhood?"

The tension became something close to a flinch.

"Something else?"

The doctor sighed a little, not frustrated so much as if she'd just been proven correct about something.

"Okay, then. How about hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?"

Loki opened his mouth to speak…then abruptly shut it. Hobbies? Fun? He supposed that he could call furthering his magical knowledge something he kind of did for fun… sort of. He enjoyed it but mostly it was a way to keep up since he couldn't with brute strength. He'd rather liked training with others until it became less of a learning experience and more of a brawl that always ended with someone blacking his eye and Loki pinning someone to the ceiling.

So much for hobbies, then.

He looked away.

"I…I have a brother," he began, jumping back to the first question and figuring that it would be less painful than admitting that he really didn't have anything that he did for fun aside from causing others immense irritation, "An older brother. He's huge and dumb and _blonde_ and he's always been better than me at _everything_…"

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><p>Loki had learned a few things over the past week.<p>

One, his brother was more of an idiot than he'd thought and had decided to become a superhero.

Two, Thor deciding to become a superhero had made government buildings surprisingly easy for Loki to topple.

Three, apparently Loki had a few anger issues and an inferiority complex that Doctor Moran suspected were tied directly to his family, and they'd begin working on them come Loki's next appointment, which was exactly two days from now.

In the meantime, Loki had proceeded to pretend to be someone Very Important in order to get his hands on a penthouse apartment while making himself Extremely Rich in the process, learned how to use what the people of Midgard called a "cellular phone", and had learned from the lady in the supermarket why it was better to buy wild salmon than farmed salmon. He didn't really know which was actually better and he didn't really care all that much because it was _damned delicious_, thank you very much.

Did he know that creating money was considered very much illegal?

Most definitely.

Did he care?

Not really. It wasn't like the entirety of Midgard didn't already run off of funny money anyway. Why they didn't use gold or goods like sensible people, he didn't have a clue. What was wrong with materializing ridiculous amounts of gold, anyway? At the very least, you could always chuck it at someone.

Loki didn't think that Doctor Moran would much approve of his dealings and so didn't bother to inform her. It wasn't because he cared what she thought of him, certainly not. Definitely not. It would merely have been a pain if she'd decided to get more into his business than she already was, that was all.

_I will do my very best to give you the help that you need and to get you feeling better._

That was all that it was. Obviously.

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><p>AN2: I hope you have all enjoyed chapter one of Truthfully! As a writer, I treasure any and all feedback whether it's praise of criticism, so please, if you have anything at all to say, leave a review!<p> 


	2. Feldspar

Truthfully

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><p>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<p>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Hey heeeeeey, totally wasn't expecting the response I got from you kids on this fic! Thank you so much; I appreciate all of the feedback and alerts. I hope you all enjoy this next little bit.<p>

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><p>Chapter Two: Feldspar<p>

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><p>"Hello, Loki. Go ahead and sit down," Doctor Moran gestured to the same chair that Loki had sat in the first time, warm brown leather that looked as if it had been worked steadily for years. Despite his height, Loki felt disturbingly small in it and he didn't quite know why. "How are you today?"<p>

Such a simple and unassuming question.

Then again, the whole reason he was here was to assess his mental situation, so maybe not so unassuming. Figuring this, Loki frowned a little and seriously considered the question.

"Does the honesty have to kick in yet?"

"I'd prefer it, yes."

Loki leaned back in his chair and raised his arms over his head, lacing his fingers together as he stretched muscles that didn't need the attention.

"I don't know."

"No?"

"Fine," the liesmith's voice tapered out into something resembling resentment, "I feel awful."

"Any idea why?"

The image of Thor, shining and golden and surrounded by people just like always, came unbidden into Loki's mind and he brushed it away. He didn't want to think about his brother when this was supposed to be a place to help _him_. For _him_, not for Thor or Odin or Asgard or the honor of whatever they were representing that day. Just Loki.

Loki just scowled at her and stared her down until she closed her eyes and did that not-surprised-at-all sigh again.

"All right, then, if that's how you feel about it. Let's get started. I believe we left off while discussing your brother—"

"Is that really necessary? I thought that these…_sessions_ were about me."

He fidgeted under the stare that was immediately fixed on him.

"Exactly, these sessions are about you and your feelings. Your family is also about you, and I don't think you realize just how much of yourself ends up being tied in to how you feel about your family. So yes, it's necessary," she informed him firmly. Loki noticed that she was wearing a strange, beaded cord around the ends of her glasses that looped around her neck. She toyed with it between her fingertips and he wondered if it was a nervous habit. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that it likely wasn't.

Doctor Moran had just met him and had no idea of just who he was, what he'd done. What reason would she have to be frightened of him?

"Who would you rather talk about?" she ventured finally, "We can either discuss your brother or your father."

A lump of ice began to form in Loki's gut and he had to look down, just to make sure that he wasn't beginning to turn blue. But no, he was still his normal, Asgardian pink. Which apparently wasn't normal for him at all. The ice began to spread.

"Loki?"

Green eyes flashed up at the sound. The color had drained out of his face and if he focused too hard, his hands were starting to shake.

"What are you thinking right now, Loki?"

Frost and snow and cold and how had he never _known_? Why had he never been _told_? At least if he'd known, maybe he wouldn't have tried so hard to be good and better. Maybe if he'd known, he'd have known to give up sooner—

His breathing had gone ragged.

"Talk to me."

"I just—I just—_can't_, I _can't_, just _stop—_"

"Calm down, Loki, and talk to me."

He was clenching the arms of the chair underneath his fingers, his knuckles going white and Doctor Moran's words just barely registered. Briefly, he experienced a flash of fury so potent that reminded him, as if he needed a reminded, or just what he was capable of. Magic rippled just under his skin and responded to his emotions, eager and willing like the most familiar lover, and something in him whispered _let go, let go, you can take care of everything_ and he remembered a broken rainbow bridge and falling through darkness and the things that he'd seen.

And Loki resisted the pull of power and temptation, realizing suddenly that the coppery taste that flooded his mouth had come from his own newly bloodied lip. He looked up and saw Doctor Moran watching him with concern, numbly taking the tissue when she offered it to him, blotting at his lip. It came away red just like he'd known it would.

"You're okay, Loki. You're safe here. You want to tell me what that was?"

"I'm not…" he began uneasily, painfully, "I'm not my father's son. I never knew for so long."

"What did that do to you?"

"Father was always-" Cold, ambivalent, distant, "different with me, compared to my brother. I always thought that it was because I wasn't good enough. I wasn't strong enough, wasn't smart enough, wasn't _anything_ enough and I tried so _hard_ to do and be anything that might prove myself to him and everyone because even if no one else knew, _everyone_ knew that I was different. Less. And then I found out that I wasn't even his and it was like, _oh_. Okay, that's why. All that time wasted, trying to make up for something I couldn't control and that had nothing to do with me."

_No, Loki_.

"I wouldn't be able to tell you his reasons for taking me if that was how it was going to be. Maybe he ought to have left me there, in the cold and the snow, for all the good it did me."

"How did finding that out make you feel?"

And then without even thinking about it, Loki was scrambling out of the chair and lurching to his feet, hollering at the top of his lungs directly into Doctor Moran's face, eyes blazing and dark hair coming undone and hands shaking.

"How in Valhalla do you _think_ that makes me feel? How would _anyone_ feel?" he raged, straightening and beginning to pace, frenzied, back and forth across the room, "All I did I did for the benefit of everyone, and then he decides to drop that on me? No, no, sainted brother gets exiled and sainted father gets to take a nap and look what I get stuck with! Here, enjoy being king, by the way I stole you from a temple out of pity like an abandoned dog. I _knew_ I was different, I _knew_! I knew, I knew, I knew—" and broke off abruptly, words catching painfully in his throat.

Heat was building behind his eyes and he was _not_ going to cry. Absolutely not.

"Come back over here and sit down, Loki," the therapist's voice was mortifyingly gentle and Loki patted and carded his hands anxiously through his hair even though at this point it was a bit of a lost cause. "You're just fine, it's okay that you're angry about this. I said I wanted honesty from you, and you're neither the first patient nor the last to get angry in my office. Now, come back over here and sit." Numbly, he obeyed. "I said we'd get you feeling better, didn't I? We're going to start by finding you something that makes you happy."

If Loki dragged the blood-stained tissue over his cheek to catch any moisture and Doctor Moran had caught the gesture, he didn't think that she'd tell.

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><p><em>June 7<em>_th_

_Fourth meeting with LO. Reluctant to give specific details, but prone to anger when instigated. Displays an inferiority complex when it comes to his older brother and doesn't like to talk about him, though more than willing to rant. Experiences include parental trauma that imply past abandonment by original parents and possible (?) kidnapping by current and apparently estranged family. Look into LO's family current situation? Maybe not. As written in last, LO continues to be a very contradictory individual; occasionally speaks in an archaic fashion and thrown by relatively normal things but dresses impeccably. Recent immigrant? Something to keep in mind for next few sessions._

_Patient doesn't speak of where it is that he's from, possibly somewhere rural or backwoods. Look into "exile", "king", and "temples" and see where that goes. Not from around here. Look up "Valhalla"._

_Patient displays shows of pride and ego to cover up low self-worth. When asked about simple things like hobbies, goes quiet. I've suggested that he try and find something that he likes to do, as he seems to have the type of personality that can get obsessive and a quick mind that needs to stay active and focused on healthy pastimes instead of traumatic experiences._

_Further thoughts: doesn't appear thus far to need medication or possess any of the standard mental imbalances. Should it come to that, recommend Tina Bates. Inferiority complex, obsessive personality, abandonment issues, and distrust towards others._

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><p>Up until about now, Loki's opinion of Midgard had remained almost depressingly low.<p>

The locals were rude and slow and irritating for the most part, not to mention that the entire realm was in his black book solely for housing his brother and his brother's band of misfit goody-goody spandex-hoarders. Well, spandex-hoarders and a tin can, which was probably a bit too much of a compliment to give to Tony Stark.

His choices for the day were to either A) wreak havoc upon the world at large which, while relatively enjoyable, he'd already done yesterday; B) Sit alone at home and stare at the television to watch the mortals wed for seventy-two days before calling it quits; or C) do as his therapist had suggested.

Which was how he found himself under the observation of about twenty of so women that he'd never met in his life. This was a terrible way to make oneself vulnerable, he noted, his right hand currently in the possession of a tiny Korean woman who seemed to make it her life's mission to make sure that he had to most well-shaped nails in the city.

Well, Loki didn't know about _that_ but he liked the way the file felt and the lotion that had been rubbed into his skin and he liked even more what his hands looked like afterwards, soft and polished and with all of the edges of his nails cleaned up.

"Men _never_ take care of their hands," the woman groused, "What a shame. Your hands lovely, dear. Make sure you take care of them."

If only she knew the atrocities that Loki had committed with those lovely hands of his. He wondered if she would still find them lovely then.

Nevertheless, Loki inclined his head and replied solemnly that he would do his best.

"Do not just do your best. Whenever your nails get ratty, you come back here and I will do them for you. This place better than the Chinese place down the street. Don't ever go there; she take your cuticles right off." She gave him a scrutinizing look, to which Loki responded with the raising of a single eyebrow. "How well you sleeping? You have giant baggies under your eyes."

Loki, vain as he was, couldn't resist raising a hand to press gingerly at the skin below his eyes.

"Don't poke at it, you make it puffier!" the lady scolded, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from his face.

Instinctively, his magic rippled and Loki forced it down.

He didn't particularly care about her, but she'd just spent forty-five minutes pouring all of her attention into making sure that his hands were presentable and if Loki hated one thing (though he hated lots of things), it was wasting time. Besides, she was good at what she did and Loki appreciated usefulness too. If he removed her, he'd have to find someone else who would do a good job, and that would waste _his_ time too.

It certainly had nothing to do with how his muscles had slackened while she'd fussed at him, letting him lower his guard just the slightest bit. It certainly had nothing to do with how it had felt, having nothing more expected of him than to let his hands be held and to hold a conversation with someone who didn't really know him and didn't really care who he was or wasn't.

Absolutely not.

"Here, I do aromatherapy too. Chamomile oil and lavender help wind you down and de-stress. Stress is _very_ bad for your skin; make you dry and scaly."

Loki just didn't like wasting time, which was why he made it a point to come back the same day the following week.

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><p>Loki had just finished sending Tin Can Man through a building when he stopped short, dropping straight out of the air and landing on his feet to roll his sleeve up, checking his watch. Thor and his toady minions prepared for attack but held fire, watching him with well-placed wariness.<p>

Well.

It might have been well-placed if he actually had anything planned for them today outside of some tussling to take the edge off.

Shoot, he was running late.

"Let's just fast forward," Loki declared, voice ringing out loudly for them all to hear it, "Blah blah blah, you attack, blah blah blah, I throw you through another building, blah blah blah, you shout some words that might make sense if you had a brain between you, blah blah blah, I am victorious and run off, laughing maniacally. That about right? I don't have time for the whole thing today, my eternal apologies. Let's just not and say we did; I'll make up for it next time."

And then Loki the Trickster vanished into a puff of green smoke.

"What exactly was that?" Steve Rogers ventured, relaxing and taking off his head covered to run his hands through his hair. "I know Loki's a weird guy, but that was weirder than usual. How are you holding up, Tony?"

Coughing, Tony shoved aside the rubble and stood up, dusting off his suit with a grimace as he opened up his face piece.

"I'll live, that wasn't one of his harder hits. Maybe he's going to therapy or anger management." The business tycoon laughed at his own little joke, only to wince when a large hand slammed down on his shoulder.

"What is this 'therapy' of which you speak?" Thor thundered down at him and Tony furrowed his brows.

"You know, therapy. It's where you go when your feelings are all messed up and you need someone to talk to." Thor didn't look like this was a familiar concept to him. "You have healers in Asgard, right? If those are for healing the pain and sickness of the body, going to see a therapist is for healing the pain and sickness of the mind."

Thor, transparent and incapable of subterfuge Thor, was wearing what was possibly _the_ most unreadable look on his face that Tony had ever seen in his life.

"And you think that my brother has been going to see one of these people, Man of Iron?"

Tony furrowed his brows.

"Uh, not really, I was kind of joking. Though if anyone could use some therapy, it's Loki. Why?"

"My brother was behaving differently—"

"I'll say, I only went through a tree twice and he tossed me through the branches instead of the trunk," Steve muttered under his breath. Thor ignored him and continued speaking.

"We have spent the vast majority of our lives together. I've never claimed to be able to understand him or the way he thinks, but I do know him. You have never seen the full extent of his power, but even at his worst, he's merely been annoyed or frustrated. Today he was _playing_."

Tony just stared at him, a look on his face that indicated that he was going to be sick.

"Wait, wait, wait," he threw up a hand to stop the other man, "Are you trying to tell me that this whole time he's basically just been screwing with us?"

"My brother has spent about a thousand years 'screwing' with people, this is nothing new. If he were to really try for it, he would be fully capable of bringing down the entirety of Midgard with his eyes shut and very few things would be capable of stopping him."

Now Tony definitely felt sick.

"So what, do _you_ think he's seeing someone? You're his brother."

"I know that something has happened to calm him and soothe whatever has been causing him to act this way. Whatever that is, I wouldn't know, but if Loki _is_ going to this 'therapy', it can only be good for him."

"Well," Steve spoke up, looking more than a little bit uncomfortable at these revelations, "Loki _is_ the god of mischief, not the god of murder. That's got to count for something, right?"

"Quite right!" Thor boomed, giving Captain American a good, painful smack on the shoulder that left the other man reeling for just a few seconds, "And tonight, we drink in victory!"

"Um…I don't know if you noticed, but the enemy _walked away_. I don't think that's exactly what we'd call victory."

"To victory!"

Steve buried his face in his palms and Tony just rolled his eyes skyward, whipping out his phone and tapping out a text message to Clint.

"Don't think too hard about it, Cap."

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><p>AN2: Thank you for reading! If you have anything at all to say, please leave a review!<p> 


	3. Calcite

Truthfully

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><p>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<p>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Three: Calcite<p>

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><p>"How are you today, Loki?"<p>

The dark-haired man didn't reply, choosing instead to run pale, long fingers over the fabric of his tie. Doctor Moran leaned back and waited. Her substantial red hair was pulled back (kind of) but still appeared to be ready to explode all over creation at the slightest provocation.

"One of those days?" she asked mildly, and Loki's eyebrows twitched as if he wasn't sure whether to glare or relax. He did a lot of glaring in here, actually. A lot of glaring and a lot of shouting but not all that much lying, mostly twisting and rephrasing because it wasn't as if this was _helping_ him at all, he just didn't like wasting time. Why else would he even bother coming here and wasting the money that he hadn't earned and the time that he had so much of if he were going to lie about it?

It was all an experiment.

Obviously.

"Have you done something different with your hair?"

That got his attention and green eyes lifted out of his lap, bright and strange. Absently, Loki raised a hand to finger his hair, still slicked back but not plastered as it had all the other times she'd seen him. One side of his mouth twitched upwards, just the tiniest bit. It wasn't quite a smile but it was the closest he'd come so far. At the very least, it wasn't a frown or a scowl.

"Where I come from, we don't have the kind of vanity products that you can get here. Hair is managed with oils or ties, which as you can imagine leave my hair horrifyingly greasy. I tried something new today."

It looks good," Doctor Moran commented, "It suits you very well."

Loki looked stunned as if that had been the last thing he'd been expecting, before lowering his head again to hide his face. He was more relaxed though, and she suspected that it was to hide what might have turned into a look of legitimate pleasure.

"Thank you," he said softly and twisted his hands in his lap.

"That's a good tie-in to what I thought we could talk about today," she told him, "I'd like to discuss your home—"

"No," Loki said shortly.

A raised eyebrow.

"No?"

"No."

"Okay, then."

For a good two minutes, they stared each other down, Loki meeting her eyes fearlessly, unable to place just why it made his insides squirm uncomfortably when she watched him right back.

"What do you _want_?" he snapped, irritated. Doctor Moran slid her glasses off her face and began to polish the lenses, doing That Sigh again.

"I told you the very first day. I need your trust and I need your honesty."

"I can't do that."

"No, you won't do that. You're scared and you don't want to be vulnerable and I understand that but you're here for a reason—"

"I'm not scared!" Loki snarled, eyes blazing. His magic crackled in a way that only he could feel and hear, slithering under his skin and fizzing and it would be so easy to put on the Loki the Supervillain hat and go on his way. So very easy. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before. "You know nothing, you're an idiot, and _you can't help me_."

"Then why are you here?"

The words dropped, soft and solid like a nuclear strike.

"You are here for a reason, no one is forcing you. I know exactly why you're here."

"Oh? And why am I here, exactly? Enlighten me."

"You're here because you know you need help. You're here because you need someone to talk to. You're here because something is wrong and you don't know what to do and something inside you feels better after our sessions, otherwise you never would have come back after the first one."

And then Doctor Moran was left alone in her office because Loki's out of his chair and gunning for the exit, slamming the door with finality.

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><p><em>August 4<em>_th_

_Experienced a blowout with LO. As usual, a most contradictory individual. Belligerent and defensive, suppressing vulnerability with anger and ego when asked to discuss his home. Maybe (?) began to display a smile when given a compliment on his changed hairstyle. One step forward, two steps back?_

_Overall, patient has displayed improvement in overall temperament and perceived well-being of self. Expressed interest in activities never experienced before: mentioned getting a manicure, signed up for several cooking classes, flower arranging (!). More often than not, it would be impossible to tell that he's not from around here with the way he's able to adapt, but sometimes it's quite obvious in the way he looks at things and the activities he picks._

_I've suggested yoga and possibly a dance class; the physical activity can only be beneficial. _

_Unsure as to whether he'll be returning for his next appointment; note to self: keep time slot reserved anyway._

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><p>The next day, Loki decided to lace the Eiffel Tower with double-sided duct tape.<p>

He couldn't even really laugh at the ineptitude of those responsible for cleaning it up.

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><p>There were few disadvantages to being a relatively well-known villain, Loki found, though the past week found him discovering the mood-altering properties of chunky monkey and that according to the people on the style channel, he had phenomenal taste in clothing and he ought to expect a call within the next few weeks.<p>

Maybe if he were feeling particularly mean, he'd tell them yes and then cancel at the last minute just to be an asshole, and then maybe show up anyway, just because he could.

Point being, it was kind of nice to be famous, even if it was being famous for doing unsavory things, though most of his misdeeds lately had consisted of him juggling his brother's friends and avoiding a blow from Mjolnir. Thor hadn't really been trying very hard either, instead stopping once in a while and shooting him looks that said plainly _I'm on to you._

Clearly, he wasn't because if he was, the look would be infinitely different.

The nice thing about being relatively famous, Loki noted, was there was always a space for him in any time slot he so chose at the little yoga center he'd taken to frequenting. The first class hadn't even been awkward, mostly because the other participants happened to be new age types who didn't watch television and sustained themselves almost entirely on granola and the goodwill of the human race, so mostly granola. It'd be easier to make fun of them, Loki had to admit, if he hadn't found himself entirely too attached to that granola.

He blamed _that_ on whatever had possessed him to eat three pints of the aforementioned chunky monkey in a single sitting.

Shut up.

"Have you ever considered meditation instead of throwing the Avengers through skyscrapers? It seems like so much unnecessary effort."

"How about I throw _you_ through a skyscraper?" Loki replied pleasantly as he breathed deeply (and serenely!) through his scorpion form, "Besides, great effort brings great results."

"Don't you mean 'with great power comes great responsibility'?"

"No, I really don't think that I do. I don't have to be responsible for much of anything right now except for making sure that my shoulders don't give out on me," the liesmith emphasized his point by wiggling his shoulders, causing his entire form to sway until he lowered his feet further to rest them on his head. "Ahh, there we go. That feels _so_ much better."

The cornrow'd brunette to his right just scowled enviously at him.

"I kind of hate you right now."

"Don't hate the player, hate the game."

"I don't think scorpion form is a game. More like a death trap, maybe."

"Everything's a game, it's all about how serious you are about winning."

For that, Loki caught a chunk of granola right between the eyes.

"Hey! If you make me fall over, I will make you explode," he snapped, wobbling not of his own accord now. The girl next to him smirked.

"What was that about not hating the player?" she asked under her breath, and Loki really would have made her explode (_really_) if not for the fact their instructor was leveling the lot of them with a withering glare and if he made her explode, he'd have to make his teacher explode too. And he hadn't quite mastered the flying crow pose yet.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you so much for reading! As always, not only do I appreciate all of your alerts, but every bit of feedback as well, whether it's praise or criticism, so please feel free to asktell me anything.


	4. Malachite

Truthfully

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><p>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<p>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Four: Malachite<p>

* * *

><p>Usually, Loki entered the office and sat down, silently waiting to be spoken to.<p>

Today he flew in like a whirlwind and began to speak first before Doctor Moran could even greet him properly, the words falling out of him as if they physically pained him to say.

"I behaved inappropriately last time in a manner that was unbefitting of me and the current association we have. I was unwilling to admit that there might be something… beneficial to me in this, and I would prefer that you continue to be willing to speak with me on the issue of such subjects."

And if that wasn't the most unhappily-phrased, reluctantly well-meaning excuse for an apology that Loki had ever given in his life, he didn't know what was. Clearly the doctor agreed with his mental assessment, as she blinked at him rapidly as if in the presence of a bright light right before her lips tilted up in a smile.

"Good to see you again, Loki. Apology accepted. Sit down, please."

He obeyed and sank down into that chair that never failed to make him feel shorter than his height of six foot two, the worked leather warm against the skin he'd chosen to bare today which due to the summer heat consisted of his arms. It was a downgrade for him but an upgrade for the therapist, who saw it as an indicator of relaxation, that he wasn't hiding behind layers and layers of (impeccably tailored and picked out) clothing.

Loki was just hot.

It was summer; he was allowed to be hot.

Really.

"Ready for some honesty?"

Loki tried for a smile which ended up looking much more like a grimace than anything even remotely pleased or at ease.

"Not particularly. I believe that I said the first meeting that I wasn't really the honest sort," At Doctor Moran's nod, a few of the lines in his forehead smoothed out, "But I'm willing to make an attempt. I'm a little out of practice. Lying comes easily to me; diversions, that sort of thing." The doctor nodded encouragingly at him.

"Think you can talk to me about your home today?"

Loki dragged in a breath and tried to calm the almost compulsive desire to teleport himself right out of that office.

"I can try?"

"That's all I ask. I won't have you do anything that I don't think that you can, so try your best. Let's start easy, shall we? When you think about the place you're from, what's the first feeling that comes up?"

That was what she called easy? Somehow, Loki felt that this one question would likely set the tone for the entire session and he steeled himself. It would be so, so easy to lie, to say something that would make the uncomfortable feelings twisting in his gut go away. But if he did that, what was the _point_? Green eyes shifted away and focused on the painting above her head.

"…big," he finally replied, "Everything's big. And I'm not."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Doctor Moran praised with a smile and it absolutely shouldn't have made something in Loki's stomach loosen. What a stupid thing to be happy about. "Thinking about that, that feeling that everything's bigger than you, just talk to me. It doesn't have to make sense. Anything you feel when you think about that, say it to me."

"Is this really what you call easy?" Loki murmured bitterly under his breath and caught a chiding stare for his troubles.

"Please, Loki. You told me that you'd try. Just talk."

When he wasn't furious and shouting loudly enough for the entirety of creation to hear him, Loki generally spent the entirety of each session in that warm chair. For this, though, he got to his feet and began to pace.

"Does it ruin your work if I stand up for this?"

"You can do whatever makes you comfortable as long as you don't throw my books. This is about how you feel about you, not me. If you feel the need to throw something, there is a stuffed bear in the corner for that specific purpose."

So that's what that was for.

Almost not realizing that he was doing it, the dark-haired man began to pace the length of the room, purposeful but not frenzied, as if in a walking meditation. Doctor Moran stayed silent, simply watching his movements and writing down notes in the leather bound book she always had with her.

"I don't know if everything's always been big or I've always been small," he began, unsteadily, forcing his voice to not rise into anger or worse, the jovial malice that he wasn't sure when he'd become prone to, "Where I'm from, it's a place that treasures strength. Physical strength. Your worth as a person is measured in how easily you can kill something with a sword or a hammer or… well, like that. Bluntness is prized and it means more to fight a war with violence than to stop a war with words. I'm probably the opposite of everything that means anything. I prefer the subtle arts, books and words and machinations and I've never been any good at blustering my way through walls. I go around them, not through them."

"And that's considered a negative thing?"

"Very much so. Growing up, it was all _Loki, be more like your brother_. _Loki, stop being so sneaky. Loki, why can't you just be stronger?_ I tried and I tried and I tried for _so long_ and I just couldn't. I can't help what I'm good at!" He broke off, breathing heavy. Loki could feel the blood pounding in his ears. "No one likes you if you don't do what they think you ought. If you can't _be_ what they think you ought."

"Did anyone like you or really understand you?" The question came quietly.

"No one who wasn't immediate family and even then no one really understood me. Tolerated, yes, mostly for the purpose of trying to make me better. But that stopped by the time I reached my majority. By that time everyone had mostly just given up on me. They gave up, I gave up, to hell with them all, the end."

"Really? That's it, then? That's really all, the end?"

Loki felt his insides squirm uncomfortably and it was hard to not get lost in the feelings that he'd pushed away but hadn't ever really forgotten. Never being good enough and the worst of it all, desperately wanting more than anything to be able to, just for a little bit, stand on that pedestal of shining qualities that his brother had been born upon. Just to see how it felt when you were exactly how others wanted you to be and they _loved_ you for it.

"Can we stop?" he forced out, hating how fractured his voice had become, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Thinking about it just made him feel it all the harder and he'd decided to stop feeling centuries back.

"You're doing fine, just a little bit more, Loki."

"How much more do you want me to give to you?" and this time his voice most definitely cracked, "I'm doing the best I can!"

And then Loki Odinsson, Trickster, Liesmith, and the God of Mischief walked right over to the corner, picked up the plush bear and chucked it directly at his therapist.

* * *

><p>"<em>There was no one who tried to understand you, not even a little bit?"<em>

"…"

"_Silence says more sometimes than words, you know."_

_An image of Thor, shining and golden and dense, emerged unbidden into Loki's mind. A bright smile, a hand that he'd spent at least six centuries holding, and blue eyes that pulled through where his words had failed were the few bright spots that he'd ever been able to find, mixed up amongst the resentment and loneliness and bitterness and inferiority until it had twisted and warped into something Loki couldn't recognize._

_Anger and compassion, sadness and pleasure, jealousy and love._

_Loki felt all of them and hated that he couldn't hate completely._

"_My bro—" A choking noise that absolutely wasn't a sob, "I don't want to talk about him."_

"_Alright, Loki. Come and sit back down, you did well."_

"_I think I changed my mind, there can't possibly be any benefit to this."_

_A knowing smile._

"_Sometimes when a wound has been left to rot and fester for a long time, it has to be cut open for the sickness to come out. You've been hurting for a long time and now the sickness is finally being exposed. It's a good thing, I promise."_

"_It feels awful."_

"_I know. But once the infection's burned out, it can start to heal."_

The heels of Loki's hands were pressed tightly into his eyes and he rolled over in bed for about the five thousandth time. It was pointless; the words just kept replaying in his head and no amount of pacing or redirecting would make them cease.

"_There was no one who tried to understand you, not even a little bit?"_

That was always the problem, wasn't it?

Biting back a swear, Loki raised his hand and without looking summoned a little glass bottle filled with a slightly viscous, yellow-tinted liquid. He uncorked it and set it upon his bedside table, breathing deeply until the scent of flowers filled his head and the words began to blur.

* * *

><p><em>October 13<em>

_After every session with LO, I'm reminded further of the most important quality to have in this profession. It's not patience or the ability to look upon a situation with an unbiased eye, but ego. To look at someone and tell them firmly, because they can't believe it themselves, that you will help them, takes an absurdly high opinion of oneself and it's never clearer to me than when I see him walk out of my office. He doesn't really believe in me but he tries anyway, and for someone like him? Trying counts more than anyone else knows. _

_The deadliest sin by far to a doctor is pride and you can't make it doing this without it._

_Not to be unprofessional, but I could absolutely strangle every single person in LO's homeland who thought that it was okay for him to get to this point. We haven't discussed it in detail but he's mentioned offhand and only in a fit of rage that he's not actually his father's son, and combine that with long-term, pre-existing feelings of inadequacy and isolation and unmet needs, and you end up with a desperate individual who looks for fulfillment anywhere he can get it even when it's self-destructive and destructive towards others._

_He's a mess but he's trying, awkward though it is, and that says more about him than anything else could._

_The family is at the root of the problem but getting him to be even remotely honest is like pulling teeth. He really is an experienced liar, maybe the best I've ever seen. Occasionally he can be goaded into addressing them directly but more often than not he just sits there and glares at me, like how dare I do what he's paying me for. That's not even remotely unusual, though. _

_If I could just get him to say exactly what he means in that direction though, just once…_

_It's progress, though. So much progress._

_I've got to say, though, I've told about every patient about the purpose of that bear in the corner at one time or another to the point that it's almost a joke. I've never had anyone actually take me up on it._

* * *

><p>It had only taken Tony Stark one meeting with Thor's brother to learn two things.<p>

One, someone in that family had not been hugged enough and it hadn't been Thor.

Two, Loki had a nasty right hook and where Thor was howls of rage and a decent amount of warning before you met your end with a vision of a flung hammer, Loki was the knife in the dark, the trump card, the road no one thought to take, the one you never saw coming.

It was a pretty nasty combination and the guy was a piece of work.

At this point, Tony could almost transcribe their interactions down to the vocal inflections and who would get blasted in the face and when Loki would make it rain frogs, and then when he'd make it rain something else just to be creative. Tony _hated_ creative people, especially when it led to his suit getting covered in blackstrap.

So far, all of their interactions had been relatively violent. You know, lots of yelling, lots of destruction, general havoc all around with The Avengers saving the day. The usual.

This was not the usual.

The dark-haired god was currently giving them the "what in Valhalla is _wrong_ with you?" face (thanks for nothing, Thor) and for once wasn't doing much of anything save for staring at the lot of them as if they'd lost their minds. That really wasn't fair at all because Loki was _always_ up to something, and how dare he look so confused as if he had no idea that they were on to his schemes?

Whatever they were that day, anyway.

"Look, I'm flattered, but I hadn't really planned on playing with you today. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Look, Trickster, I know you're up to something," Tony informed him, "You're _always_ up to something. That's what you do." For a brief second, Loki looked as if he might debate this but eventually just shrugged because not even he could really argue with that kind of assessment. "What is it today? Giving the Statue of Liberty a mustache? Adding yourself to Mount Rushmore? Or here's an idea," Tony ignored Steve's vaguely aggravated frown for giving the enemy inspiration, "Why don't you just go the traditional route and try to bomb the hell out of city hall?"

Loki's lips tilted up in a grin.

"You're a creative one, aren't you?"

Tony _hated_ creative people. Loki shifted his bag on his shoulder and checked his watch. He apparently didn't like what he saw, because his grin slipped into a scowl.

"Yeah, I think I'll require a rain check on that. You see, I'm afraid that I'm running late and as much as I'd love to be completely predictable, I really just don't have the time today."

"You…don't have time."

"Not today. Besides, if I were planning anything at all to do with you, do you really think I'd waste my good clothes on it?" Rolling his eyes, Loki adjusted the sleeve of his casual, tailored suit. It was a dark green and Tony almost asked him where he got the style balls that allowed him to tuck the slim legs of his trousers into dressy combat boots without feeling the slightest bit self-conscious. He kind of had a point there. "By the way, isn't there normally someone else with you? Perhaps a huge, blonde behemoth who likely still can't figure out how to work a DVD player?"

Tony winced and wanted to protest the fact except that… Loki kind of wasn't wrong.

"Thor's got nothin' to do with th—"

"Brother!"

"—is," Tony finished in a deadpan, wishing that he could even be surprised anymore. Surprisingly, Loki looked as if he shared his sentiments (and wasn't that a scary thought?) and for the first time since the encounter had begun, he appeared to be something other than composed and dignified. In fact, if Tony had to take a guess, he'd have said that the guy looked _uncomfortable_. Not angry, not ragey, not busting out with that prideful, egotistical cackle that had begun to show up in Tony's nightmares. Uncomfortable as if he didn't know quite what to do with this and along with being confused, Tony was intrigued.

With the level of irritation he'd sustained lately, anything that made Loki uncomfortable was a-okay in his book.

"What sort of villainy are you undertaking today?" Thor boomed and briefly, they all wondered what exactly their lives had become when an entire street of people could hear that and just not give a damn anymore.

Well, that was New York for you.

"Oh, the usual," Loki deadpanned, purposefully stepping backwards in a clear indicator of _touch me in any way and die_, "Horrifying things like not being late to my Thai cooking class. Real nasty stuff, let me tell you."

Thor blinked, Steve looked contemplative, and Tony? Tony snickered.

"Pfffft, seriously? Cooking classes? Loki the supervillain, taking cooking classes."

"I believe the phrase is 'wanna make something of it'?" Loki said, voice deceptively calm.

"Oh, I'm gonna make something of it. Make you arrested."

"Because you've done such a good job of that so far. Why am I even talking to you?"

"Because I'm suave and engaging and roguishly sexy."

"….no."

And this might officially be the most surreal event of Tony Stark's life because he's bantering with Loki of all people, who hasn't turned him into anything awful or made a single violent move and Thor is, as usual, acting as if this is nothing unusual when it is. In fact, it's the weirdest goddamn thing he's ever experienced. At least he' not the only one looking confused; Loki himself had glanced to his hands as if wondering why he hadn't blasted them all to smithereens yet.

Weird as shit.

"What is it that you're tying in your class?" Thor asked, having seemingly forgotten that the last time they were all together like this they were kind of trying to kill each other. Loki made an exasperated face and rubbed his temples.

"Thai," he enunciated, "It's a _kind_ of food, not a method."

If Tony hadn't already believed that they were brothers, he would have just then. That single statement had more-worldly-younger-brother written all over it.

"Is it delicious?"

"Are you aware in the slightest that I _kind of want to kill you_?"

Abruptly, Thor sobered and reached out a hand, just fast enough to get in a strange, affectionate stroke of dark hair before Loki had recoiled as if he'd been struck instead. It was the last straw, apparently, for he was gone in an instant and the only signs of him left were the wafting tendrils of green smoke in the air and the slight scent of ozone.

Tony wondered why none of them had even bothered to try and apprehend him, himself included.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please leave a review with your thoughts, possibly a little feedback on what you liked or what I could do better. Thank you!<p> 


	5. Obsidian

Truthfully

* * *

><p>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<p>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Five: Obsidian<p>

* * *

><p>There had been a lot of times that Loki had been tempted to skip his appointments. Really, it was more of a surprise when he <em>didn't<em>.

He showed up, though, right on time as always.

"Hello, Loki."

The man inclined his head as he slipped through the door, sinking into his usual chair and folding his hands in his lap.

"Greetings," he replied, waiting to hear the topic du jour. He wasn't disappointed.

Doctor Moran removed her glasses and cleaned them off, a gesture Loki recognized as one that meant more of an omen than he could think of.

"I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you," she began and Loki stared at her, flabbergasted, "Not only have you found things to entertain you on your own that don't cause damage to the city, but you reacted quite well to encountering the Avengers the other day; it was all over the papers. You didn't lose your temper or resort to destruction and crime; you've done so well."

Green eyes went almost humorously wide and Loki opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Opened it again and gave up. Doctor Moran shook her head and pushed her bangs away from her eyes.

"Oh please, don't look so surprised," she informed him, "I might not look like much but I didn't get my doctorate by sitting back and asking for it. I've known who you are since your fourth session and I finally got a chance to turn on the television. It wasn't hard to figure out. "

"Then why…?"

"Didn't I turn you in or give -what are they called, SHIELD?- all of my notes on you?"

Numbly, Loki nodded.

"Let's call it a gesture of goodwill."

Visibly, the man bristled.

"Goodwill towards _what_?" Loki snarled, "Mankind? 'Let's rehabilitate the insane, tyrannical supervillain!' was that it?" He _hated_ that sigh of hers. She didn't even sound annoyed or frustrated, just accepting when she did it, and he hated every second of it.

"Gosh, no. Granted, I do care about mankind which is kind of why I'm in this profession, but more importantly, I care about _you_. It was a gesture of goodwill towards _you_. My job is a selfish one; I'm allowed to care for the individual. I'm _supposed_ to. As it is, I'd really rather not lose my life today or anytime soon."

There was nothing that Loki could say to that. Well, there were plenty of things, actually, but none that he really wanted to say. He could easily dissolve into insults, or leave and never come back. Hell, he could simply make her explode. Instead he merely sat there, silent and almost embarrassingly stunned because there were few things that surprised him anymore and they all seemed to happen in here.

"What are you going to do now, turn me in? That hasn't worked so far."

"Frankly I was hoping that you could put the magic away-" for Loki's hands were glowing green, "and we could continue with our session. Unless you've changed your mind, of course." At Loki's dubious, incredulous expression, the doctor reached out and patted one of his hands. Magic that under any other circumstance would have burned her hand off merely retreated back underneath his skin and Loki wondered when that had started happening, because it certainly hadn't been on _his_ watch. He'd had pitch-perfect control over his magic for at least five centuries and last he checked, he hadn't been pulling back to keep others from being injured.

Must have been a fluke accident.

Obviously.

"I could kill you faster than you could blink."

"I'm sure you could, but then you'd be out six months of your life and a pretty decent doctor, if I do say so myself."

Loki let out a reluctant, put-upon whuffing sigh and dropped his face into his hands.

"Alright," he said quietly, the words coming out muffled against his palms, "Do your worst then, Doctor."

"I wasn't joking," she told him, "I am proud of you."

Loki also hadn't blushed in centuries but he could nevertheless feel the telltale heat rising in his cheeks with a vengeance.

"Let's just get on with it," he insisted, shifting in the chair to sit in it sideways with his legs draped over the arm, in a manner most unbecoming to someone who had grown up a prince. Right now there was no one told him not to, or to sit up straight, or to stop slouching like a ragamuffin.

"I wanted to talk about your brother," Doctor Moran said bluntly, watching Loki fold in on himself just the slightest bit.

"I don't want to talk about my brother."

"You don't ever want to talk about anything."

"You're brave for a mortal, aren't you?" Loki grumbled from his chair, glaring at her. "You've known this whole time that all I'd have to do was snap my fingers and boom, no more doctor. Explain to me your logic in that."

"There's a certain bravery that comes from being helpless and knowing that your life is in someone else's hands. There's also a sort of cowardice in holding out to see if one's efforts come to fruition. Sometimes, both are known as stupidity."

Loki couldn't stop the bark of laughter that forced its way from his throat.

* * *

><p>"<em>Do you love your brother, Loki?"<em>

_Loki can't even answer because it's not even a question. It's never been a question for while he __**feels**__ like he's always hated Thor, he __**knows**__ that at the same time, he's always, always loved him more than anything else in the world. More than power, more than respect, more than domination, and it's a punch in the gut to realize that he'd give up everything he had just to stand evenly with him._

_He'd give up his magic, give up his words, just for that._

"_**I never wanted the throne! I only ever wanted to be your equal!**_**"**

_Loki's done everything he possibly can to forget the way those words feel coming out of him, bitter and sharp with all the truth he avoids if he can help it, the most honest words he's ever spoken._

_And he hates them._

_And he hates the way that it's clear to him now that even if no one else in the world believes it, Thor thinks that Loki is his equal. Even at his most belligerent and Thor's most pompous and the both of them at their most hard-headed, he's always loved Thor. And Thor's always loved him._

_Loki hangs his head before raising his eyes, a half-manic smile playing across his face._

"_Why would you think that?" he asks lightly, voice airy as a cloud._

"_Because you're smiling but mostly you look like you'd rather be crying instead."_

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you so much for reading, my apologies for the brevity of this chapter! If you enjoyed this, please leave a review!<p> 


	6. Spinel

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Six: Spinel<p>

* * *

><p>Loki wasn't sure how he'd gotten from walking out of the nail salon to kneeling on the ground above his brother, both hands pressed tight to the gaping hole in his chest to try and stem the bleeding.<p>

The world could be burning down for all he saw but in fact the havoc ends quite quickly, mostly due to the scoundrels, the blackguards, the idiots who _dared_ think that they could slay Thor right in front of Loki, dissolving instantly into molecules.

"Don't you even _dare_ die on me," Loki heard himself grinding out between clenched teeth, forcing ropes, streams, rivers of bright green and golden magic out through his fingertips and into the half-delusional blonde who was not making this an easy task. Skin stitched back together and frayed again, blood flow stymied and released. "You will not perish, do you hear me? You will not, you will not, _you will not_. If you still think yourself my brother, you _will not perish_," He emphasized his words with power and ignored the ice and frost that had spread out around him from the effort, melting almost instantly from the heat that radiated behind it, a fluctuating cycle that he wasn't bothering to control.

He ignored the swears and panicking summons for a medic from Stark and the presence of Rogers kneeling down next to him in the puddles of melted ice. He never thought he'd be quite so grateful for the presence of a soldier, for one who didn't quake in the face of death and potential loss.

"What can I do?"

The man didn't even bother with the usual games, the assumption that as usual, Loki was up to no good. It was clear that right now, his power and presence was literally the only thing keeping Thor in the land of the living and keeping them all from losing a beloved friend.

"Nothing, there is nothing, there is nothing," Loki heard himself chanting, as if they weren't even his words anymore. His voice was hoarse and ragged because he hadn't ceased speaking this entire time, words of power and pain and encouragement and fury, "If you have any care as to whether he lives or dies, you'll make everyone _shut up_ and _let me work_. I can't focus with all the screeching and goddamn it Thor, if you die so help me I will bring you back and slay you myself. Are we clear? Thor Odinsson, I am speaking to you! Are we clear?"

Blue eyes opened hazily, and Thor didn't even look surprised, damn him.

Damn him, damn him, damn him.

"Hello, my brother," he murmured. "It's good to see you."

"Shut up, I'm trying to save your skin. _Stop moving!_ Rogers, if you don't get over here and keep him steady, I will destroy you with all the power I have left." It wasn't much power at this point, not nearly enough. Destruction, havoc, chaos took almost nothing out of him. Even basic, general healing was like breathing at this point. Healing someone else well on the way to death, was organizing, refiling, putting things back together and restitching wrong to right, and it took infinitely more effort, infinitely more focus, infinitely more strength.

It wasn't just fixing, it was _fighting_.

Steve was suddenly at his back, reaching around Loki to push Thor back to the ground from where he was trying to scramble to his feet.

"Hey, hey, steady there, big guy. Loki's trying to help you but he can't if you keep moving."

"You look well, my Loki," a massive hand, trembling with effort and streaked with crimson, was lifted and brought to the dark-haired god's cheek, stroking almost reverently, "Why are you crying?"

Steve hadn't noticed but it was all too obvious now if even Thor in the process of bleeding out could tell, the unhindered streaks of moisture dripping down Loki's cheeks and landing on the broken pavement.

"You will not die this day, for I am everything in this world that _will not allow it_," Loki hissed and removed his hands from Thor's chest, drawing in a deep breath, as deep as he could. Without a word of warning, he then leaned forward and pressed his lips to the wound, breathing out with all the power and anguish and life of the desperate.

His face went ashen as energy that he'd never let himself tap into left him and the world spun and blurred. He felt something snap within his head and seconds later, trickles of blood began to drip from his nose and ears.

But the bleeding stopped and the injury sealed and Thor's breathing began to even out into a steady calm.

Loki the Liesmith swayed where he knelt and sagged bonelessly to the ground, out like a light.

* * *

><p>AN: I swear to god, the next chapter will be longer. I promise, promise, promise. I just thought that this deserved to be on its own, especially considering that the next bit will be bigger. Please don't shoot me, and feel free to toss any feedback my way in a review.<p> 


	7. Gypsum

Truthfully

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><p>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<p>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN.

Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy.

TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends.

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Seven: Gypsum<p>

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><p>AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh my god. You guys, I am so embarrassed. I accidentally posted the wrong chapter earlier this morning and I couldn't possibly be more mortified if I tried. This is the correct chapter, the one posted <strong>this morning<strong> was the **wrong one. **God, I am embarrassed.

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><p>It had been three days since Loki had so much as rolled over in the bed he'd put in at the insistence of Thor. No one was going to cross the guy, not after he'd woken up in the street with Loki passed out on his chest. Oh, the bigwigs at SHIELD had tried to push for a cell and Fury had exchanged a rather vocal exchange with Thor on the merits of forcing Loki into a coma until they figured out what to do with him, but Thor had eventually gotten his way, landing Loki in a spare bedroom at the Malibu mansion that had been adapted with magic dampeners so that Thor could look after him.<p>

Briefly, they'd all entertained the idea that Loki _had_ been up to something nefarious, only to go through all of the effects he'd carried on him and finding nothing incriminating. Just a high end cell phone, a wallet full of the normal things (including but not limited to a fake id, drivers license, and a credit card), some receipts, and a small bottle of oil that smelled like flowers and that Thor assured all of them was most definitely not Asgardian lube.

Three days after they'd put the villain to bed (Tony still choked just a little bit when he phrased it like that in his head), Loki's cell phone began to ring.

It rang for at least twenty minutes straight before Steve found himself approaching the table where it lay, unable to restrain his curiosity on who would be calling a supervillain.

It no longer rang but there were two new voice mails from a Caroline Moran.

Quickly, Steve balanced the outcomes of checking those voicemails against how painful Loki might make his death when he found out his phone had been breached. It didn't take much deliberation before the man was clumsily accessing Loki's mailbox, fingers still slightly unused to the technology. Along the way, Steve noted that Loki's inbox contained approximately 342 text messages, fifty of which were labeled as being from 'that broad from yoga'.

"_Hello, Loki. This is Doctor Moran. I'm just calling because you're over an hour late for our appointment and that's unlike you, so I couldn't help but be a little bit worried. I have an opening tomorrow if you'd like to reschedule; just call me back at this number. If not, I'll see you three days from now at our usual time. Thank you, enjoy the rest of your day. –click-"_

Steve skipped ahead to the second, making a mental note to look into this woman.

"_Loki, it's Doctor Moran again,"_ her voice was tight and held more than just a touch of panic this time, _"I've been out of the office for the past couple of days and just now got around to checking up. This is the only way I know how to get a hold of you, so when you get this, please give me a call back to let me know that you're alright. Thank you. –click-"_

Steve set the phone back down and took a step back, the gears in his mind spinning rapidly.

It would be incredibly stupid to actually call this person back. What if she had been speaking in code? What if she was actually another villain that Loki had been plotting with? The what-ifs were endless, really. Unfortunately, Steve Rogers was also the sympathetic sort. She'd sounded really worried, what if she was being genuine? Loki couldn't have been duping her about who he was, what if she was sitting around somewhere, fretting like there was no tomorrow?

And she'd mentioned an appointment.

Mind made up, Steve made his way down into the basement that Tony had made his hideaway while living with a bunch of other dudes.

"Could you do me a favor?" he asked when the other man glanced up at him.

"If it's quick. What's up?" Tony replied, clicking away on his laptop.

"Could you look up a 'Doctor Caroline Moran'? It's kind of important."

"Sure, give me two seconds," It really did only take about two seconds before the man was making a whistling sound between his teeth, "Being a hero getting to you that much, buddy?"

"Who is she?"

"Active psychologist, got a practice out in NYC. Apparently focuses in…" Clickety click, "Grief counseling, emotional trauma, the standard shrink stuff really. If you're looking for hero-specific counseling, I think you'd have better luck asking for a recommendation from Fury. "

"Oh, uh, no, it's not for me," Steve shifted slightly, "Thanks though."

"No prob. Oh, here's a photo— whoa, that is some serious hair. If Trelawney was a ginger, I think she'd look like that."

"Thank you, Tony. Carry on," Steve turned and began to ascend the stairs when he got an absent wave from the other hero who was once again completely entranced in his work.

So. If his voicemails were to be believed, Loki had apparently been in touch with a mental health professional. Steve's mind flashed back to months before, to a conversation involving such a topic.

"_I know that something has happened to calm him and soothe whatever has been causing him to act this way. Whatever that is, I wouldn't know, but if Loki is going to this 'therapy', it can only be good for him."_

Well. Okay, then.

He listened to the message again to get the number and dialed the number.

It was picked up almost instantly.

"_Hello, Loki?"_

Steve gulped.

"Um, not quite. This is Steve Rogers—uh, Captain America. I just got your messages and thought I'd call," he said, not a little bit awkwardly considering that as far as he knew, Loki was still unconscious upstairs. "We're looking after him out here so that's why he hasn't made it to your, eh, sessions."

"_Is he okay?"_

"Well, he's kind of unconscious right now. Physically, he's fine, just… he used up a lot of himself. He'll be okay, though." In theory, anyway.

"_Oh, what a relief."_

Steve nodded, forgetting briefly that he couldn't be seen over the phone.

"_If it's not too much trouble, could someone let me know when he wakes? I do worry about him."_

"You're his doctor… right?" Steve asked tentatively, and all went silent on the other end. Finally,

"_Yes, I am. I'm sorry, patient confidentiality says that I can't tell you anything else. Thank you for calling."_

The conversation ended then; Steve gave a polite goodbye and hung up, setting the phone back on the table. His mind raced, jumping back and forth from the conversation he'd just had to the incoherent villain upstairs. The incoherent villain that had not only saved his brother's life at the expense of himself without even thinking about it, but had apparently taken the initiative to get himself what was clearly some much-needed help in the emotional stability department.

Huh.

Without realizing just where he was walking, Steve found himself pushing open the door to Loki's room and slipping inside.

Thor was in his usual spot, sitting on a cushioned stool at his brother's bedside. His hand was outstretched and stroking rhythmically over Loki's hair, down his cheeks, over his jawline, and back up again.

"How are you holding up?" Steve asked quietly, standing beside Thor. The other man shook his head.

"I am fine, but I do wish that he would awaken," Thor said lowly, not pausing in his motions for even a moment, "It is unnatural to see him so still."

"Is he really just sleeping?"

"My brother is the most powerful sorcerer in Asgard, possibly in all of the nine Realms," Thor informed him as if giving a lesson, and perhaps he was, "The more powerful the sorcerer, the larger his magical core, and in healing me he depleted almost all of his own. It sent him into shock which will likely persist until he is able to support himself properly."

So basically, if Loki woke up a basketcase, he'd be strong enough to make a dent in someone, probably. Great.

Steve remained silent and Thor continued his ministrations, caressing along that slackened face, so unfamiliar without the rage or manic that usually marred it. This way, he looked so calm, like he never worried. Clearly Loki worried, and worried a lot.

"It has been so long since I've been able to get close enough to do this," Thor was speaking again, normally boisterous tone subdued to a low rumble, "Part of it was my fault, I know. I became full of myself as a warrior, to not want to bother with my little brother who I saw for so long only as a tagalong. He was always proficient at spellwork and looked down upon for being more inclined towards women's work than the honorable duties of Asgard men," Thor looked dangerously close to crying and Steve reached out to rest a hand upon his shoulder. He certainly wasn't as strong as a god, but he knew that he could give a reassuring shoulder squeeze with the best of them. "If I could, I'd ask him where we all went wrong, but I think I'm too frightened to know the answer." Stroke, stroke. For the first time since Steve had begun observing, Loki stirred a little, just enough to shuffle closer to Thor's side of the bed, inspiring a watery smile. "When he let go of Gungnir, I couldn't help but wonder if there was anything left of him. Why did Father have to tell him no right then, right when he was hanging but by a thread? He'd have done anything to please, my sweet, ambitious little brother. It was all so obvious, so why hadn't I _seen_? When had he become so desperate?"

There was nothing Steve could say to that but the look on Thor's face, sad and filled with uncharacteristic self-loathing made him close his eyes and squeeze harder.

"It was all there, right in front of my eyes for so long. Why hadn't I seen what had been done to him? What he was doing to himself? It was my job, my duty, and my desire."

"Look, Thor? I don't know how it is in Asgard, but sometimes… you just don't know. Maybe you could have done things better. Maybe you did the best you could, I can't really say. Maybe you didn't. But you have him now. You know now. And you know that somewhere inside him, there's still the little brother who would have done anything for you, because he _did _and right now you're here to be able to pet the proof of it."

Thor's hand stilled and he glanced down at that dark-haired head, the rest of him nestled snugly under the mounds of blankets. Eventually, he smiled, still tinged with a touch of sadness but better than nothing.

* * *

><p>AN2: Again, this is me being incredibly embarrassed. Please feel free to leave a review telling me what a moron I am.<p> 


	8. Jasper

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Eight: Jasper<p>

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><p>Loki didn't so much as open his eyes for another two weeks.<p>

When he did, the only light he could make out was the sliver of moonlight that shone in through the breaks in the curtains.

Where the hell was he?

What had he even been doing? The last Loki remembered vividly was getting up earlier that morning, but… his mind felt thick and heavy and he barely had the strength to lift a hand, much less his head. Experimentally, he called for a tendril of magic. It gave the equivalent of a rustle but fizzled out almost immediately and Loki gave himself a little shake before giving up.

It was dark, he was disoriented, had no idea where he was, and was essentially as weak as a kitten. None of those things made his sluggish, unfocused brain particularly happy.

On the upside, he was relatively comfortable, tucked into a bed, and he could see a familiar head of blonde hair nestled into the blankets next to him, slumped over in a chair. Thor, then. There was something he was supposed to know, something so important that it niggled at him and niggled at him, but trying to think was like wading through mud up to his neck: nigh impossible.

So, helpless and feeling like he'd taken Mjolnir to his head, but Thor was here.

At the very least, that meant a few more hours of protected sleep because he knew that as long as Thor slept as well, no one would intrude. That much he knew as he knew the rising of the sun.

* * *

><p>The second time he awoke, sun was streaming in through the window and he got about three blinks and a groan in before he was being smothered by the mongoloid who fancied himself his brother.<p>

"Ow, _ow_, get off of me, you behemoth," Loki snarled, jolts of pain running up and down his body like sparks through a wire, "That _hurts_." Pain had always made him testy but this wasn't just pain, this was pain and confusion and not being sure of whether he ought to be expecting a blow or a caress. When Thor finally released him, all Loki could do was fall back against the pillows, breathing unnaturally heavy. Every movement was an effort but he refused to be manhandled like a weeping damsel from those horrifying television shows he often ended up watching when sleep became elusive.

"My brother—"

Loki went cold.

"I'm not your brother," he stated, shuffling away from Thor until he hit the wall. His magic fizzled and did the equivalent of rolling over to ignore him.

Thor cringed as if he'd landed a blow instead but the shock from hearing it had worn off long ago. Loki hadn't the strength to swat away the hand that came down to land on his head as gentle as one handling something precious.

"You may say that but it changes not my feelings," Thor said, "Do you know where you are?"

"I'm a sorcerer, not a mind-reader," Loki snapped back and fought the urge to bury himself until his headache went away, "So either tell me or kill me because you know as well as I do that I can't defend myself right now." Thor _definitely_ looked as if Loki had just hit him.

"Why…would you think something like that?"

"Unfamiliar room, magic dampeners around my neck, and I feel like I got hit by a truck. That spells captivity."

"You don't remember," Thor stated. His blue eyes were almost unnaturally bright and he leaned in closer, ignoring Loki's attempts to bat him away. "You don't know why you're here."

Something hazy and vague, like watching a scene through a fishbowl, drifted into Loki's head. A memory that he watched with half his attention as if it wasn't even his. Blood and ice and _terror_ and fury and _you will not perish_, bloodied lips and a popping noise like the snapping of a cord.

_If you still think yourself my brother, __**you will not perish**__._

Loki froze and his hands clenched spasmodically in the sheets. Quick and cursory, green eyes scrutinized Thor, up and down, looking for a trace of blood, a pull of pain—

"I am fine, Loki," Thor said gently, and Loki jerked instinctually, "Whole and hale, just as you intended." Loki didn't reply in favor of glancing around the room. At least the exhaustion made sense now, though it didn't much help him in terms of not being incarcerated. Also…

"How long have I slept?" he asked, voice low and steady. Thor's hand hadn't pulled away this whole time and Loki hated every second of it because that gentleness would eventually do him in every single time.

"Just over two weeks."

"…_damn._"

Loki's irritated response startled a chuckle out of Thor until he realized that his younger brother was still speaking, rapidly and too quietly to hear under his breath, and beginning to struggle to extract himself from the bedclothes. It wasn't working well because his limbs refused to cooperate and his magic was at once too weak and too suppressed to cooperate and Thor was still just _sitting_ there with an expression of such sympathy that Loki just wanted to hit him so that he might look angry instead.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit," Loki muttered as he tried and failed to actually muster up the strength to get up, "Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit…"

"Be calm, you've still not recovered—"

"And then what?" Loki spat, vaguely horrified in that distant way to find that his breathing was already heavy and ragged despite his lack of progress, "Then what? I'm under no illusions; I'm useless like this and as good as…"

As good as doomed.

Catching Loki had never been the problem; half the time, he let himself be caught just so that he could escape.

Holding him, on the other hand…

"It doesn't have to be like that."

"Are you blind? Of course it does! Look at me!"

Thor was too close, too close, leaning in further to cup Loki's cheeks and forcing him to look him in the eyes.

"I don't know where you've been or how your mind works sometimes," he began, the start of frustration seeping into his words, "But I have always looked at you, for you are my brother and my friend and that has yet to change regardless of how much you might wish it."

No.

No, it had never been about how much Loki wished it, but simply about how much it _was._

Loki buried his face in his hands and simply breathed for that was the most he seemed to be able to manage at the moment.

"We hadn't noticed it," Thor started conversationally, as if this hadn't been the first rational conversation he'd had with Loki in who even knew how long, "But you were not as unnoticeable as you may have thought. As we had thought, at least. Tony checked the chirping bird site and apparently, you were trending." Loki hadn't exactly been going for incognito, but really? "May I read you a few?"

"Not like I can stop you," Loki muttered bitterly.

"From a 'loverainbow': _omg Loki just showed up in my yoga class. For a supervillain, could he be any cuter? If he keeps coming here, I'll stay in shape forever._ Awww, she thinks you're cute." Loki glared at him. "Don't look at me like that, I'm happy for you."

"You're not supposed to be happy. That's not how this works," Loki gave another, rather half-hearted struggle, "You're supposed to be furious and I'm supposed to say some horrible things that make you even angrier, and then we duke it out before I vanish in a poof of smoke, laughing all the while. That is how this is supposed to work."

"Except that it only works because we allow it and I'm about the farthest thing from angry I could possibly be and nothing you say right now will change that. You saved me, brother."

"I'm not your brother."

"That also changes nothing."

"It should," and Loki rolled over to face the wall, trying to ignore the heat building behind his eyes because the helplessness was almost more than he could take and why wouldn't Thor just _leave_? Leave him to his fate thanks to Loki's own mistakes, thanks to Loki's mistaken actions that had landed him here—

Except that it hadn't been a mistake. Not really, not at all. Loki hadn't been bewitched, drugged, or under anyone's control but his own. He'd made the choice that wasn't a choice that had set him on whatever side would keep Thor alive and he couldn't regret it, not when faced with the alternative.

"Loki, you should rest," Thor said softly and pulled his hands away when Loki gripped them loosely around the wrists and shoved away as hard as he could. "Be at ease for now. Are you hungry?"

At the mention of the prospect of food, Loki's stomach gave a rebellious growl and Loki curled in tighter on himself.

Thor got up to leave the room and just before he reached the doorway, Loki stopped him.

"Bring my phone, too."

When Thor re-entered the room with a plate of grudgingly-made scrambled eggs but not the phone ("Are you crazy? Who knows what he could do with that thing?"), Loki had fallen asleep again, curled into the smallest ball he could manage and covered entirely in blankets.

Thor ate the eggs himself for he hadn't the heart to wake his brother again.

* * *

><p>"Okay, I can't stand it anymore," Tony announced, beckoning all of them over to the table, "Time to talk about the elephant in the room. Rather, the supervillain in the mansion, <em>Thor<em>. Mainly, what the hell we're going to do with him now that he's awake and back to his evil self."

"I don't know if evil is the right—"

"You're so biased that it's not even cute anymore," Tony waved off Thor's protests with a hand, "Let's play circle time. I can't stand the guy, so I'm all for handing him over to SHIELD or Asgard or whoever the hell else wants to take his ass and put him away somewhere safe. Next? Clint, thoughts?"

The archer shifted a little in his seat, looking more than a touch uncomfortable.

"I'm all about second –and third- chances, but I don't trust him as far as I can throw him, especially considering that he pretty much woke up long enough to yell at Thor and passed out again. _But_," Tony groaned and Clint shrugged apologetically, "And I hate that this is a but, he did save a friend's life for no other reason that he wanted to. Theoretically. Thor, you're sure he can't access his magic?"

Thor shot him an uncharacteristically dry, knowing stare from across the table.

"He can't even get out of bed. I don't know what my brother thinks but I do know _how_ he thinks. If he could do even a little bit more than he showed me, he'd have played up the dramatics. Rolled around, whined about how much it hurt, his theatrics are good and would never be that sloppy. He's angry and embarrassed and confused—and for the time being, honest."

"I'm not sure I can hand him over in good conscience, then. Not yet at least."

"Ugh, fine," Tony grumbled, stirring his coffee with intense melancholy, "Next. Natasha?"

Black Widow chewed on her lip, vague discontent shown in every line of her body that Tony was making a point to not ogle.

"Thor, I'm sorry, but your brother is a sneaky, slippery eel. I vote Asgard."

All eyes turned to Steve, who was hovering unsurely in the doorway.

"Looks like you're the tiebreaker, buddy," Tony informed him with a complete lack of sympathy, "What's the verdict? Thor, quit givin' him puppy eyes, that's dirty pool."

"You only have one pool and it's cleaned every day," Thor shot back. The remark just garnered him stinkeye and an undignified snort. Steve ran a hand through his hair, stalling for time.

His brain jumped to a phone call he'd made weeks back.

"Well," he started, "Loki hasn't actually done anything all that destructive in the past few months, and he kind of did save Thor's life." More than anything, he wanted to tell his friends what he knew, but he found himself torn between spilling all and protecting someone's privacy. …Wow. What kind of life did he lead that he was seriously considering protecting the privacy of a notorious villain? Still, a villain that clearly had issues and had taken to talking them out instead of taking it out on the world at large and making his life infinitely more difficult. Didn't that say something, if not good, then relatively decent or at least sane about him? It was a good turn, and Loki had done them all one massive good turn of his own.

Didn't that deserve another?

This could be a bad idea. This could be a very, very bad idea. This could lead to mayhem, chaos, and other Very Bad Things.

Then again, good turns. And overall, Steve tried to be an optimist. And if he had to be honest, he was more than a little bit curious and not in the For The Benefit Of the World way.

Tony apparently read Steve's answer in his face because he dropped his head to the table and rolled it back and forth. Sheepishly, Captain America shrugged.

"I'd rather not hand him over just yet," he finally determined, speaking over Tony's muttered,

"Fury's gonna _kill_ us,"

Why couldn't anyone else have looked even a little bit surprised?

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing!<p> 


	9. Amber

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Nine: Amber<p>

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><p>The first time Loki tried to get out of bed, he made it halfway across the room and fell flat on his face.<p>

The second time he tried, he made it to the kitchen and dropped like a sack of flour into a chair. Standing in front of the counter and doctoring his coffee, Tony turned around to look at him. An eyebrow cocked.

"How long are you gonna look so pathetic?" he asked, "Keep it up and I might actually start feeling bad for you."

Green eyes glared.

"I shall endeavor then, Tony Stark, to regain myself in a timely fashion if that is what you would prefer." The words were biting and laced with sarcastic frustration. More than anything, he wanted to get out of here and that was clearly off the table for the moment, considering that even without the magic dampeners, all it would take to subdue him at the moment would be to sit on him. For a few moments the two of them simply eyed each other, unsure of how to proceed. Loki was an insufferable ass, but he was a _smart_ insufferable ass and knew better than to push his luck when he couldn't defend himself. It was one thing to bluff, but to bluff when your opponent could call you on it? Suicide.

Tony, on the other hand, just didn't know how to interact with the guy outside of trying to shoot him and exchanging insults.

"So," Loki finally said, staring at his hands, "What exactly is to be done with me? I must confess it odd that I am being given so much…" he paused, "Relative freedom."

Tony scowled.

"I got outvoted by my sappy friends is what happened," he grumbled, wandering over to sit at the other end of the table, still eyeing Loki warily. "Consider it limbo."

"I find myself unfamiliar with the word," Loki admitted.

"Sometimes I forget that for all you've adapted to this place, you're still not from here." Tony blew on his coffee, before taking a sip. "Thor finds it novel but doesn't really try to assimilate. Asgard bull in a Midgard china shop. You on the other hand… you adjusted. What's up with that? I didn't figure wishful-thinking tyrant dictators for being the type to take on the culture of the people they want to enslave."

Loki examined his fingers, considering the statement.

"Enslavement is a rather strong word," he stated softly, ignoring the twisting in his gut that said that he didn't even know what he was doing anymore or what he intended, "But one never stops learning. You mortals live such short lives yet accomplish so much in the time. I suppose that it would be inevitable; you don't really have the time to waste."

Tony wasn't sure whether he ought to be offended or flattered. Still, Loki wasn't smirking at him or anything or examining the area for wherever they'd stashed the knives and sharp things, so he went with flattered.

"So what, you're trying to conquer the world with noodles and flower arranging?" Loki shot the other man a strange look and Tony clarified with a shrug, "Twitter."

"That is the question, isn't it?" Loki muttered under his breath. For a moment he didn't speak, merely thinking and turning things over in his head with a contemplative expression. Eventually, he shook his head. "To take advantage of this brief civility, explain to me the concept of limbo. Let your little mortal self feel educated."

"I don't think civil means what you think it means…" At Loki's unimpressed stare (how he could do that while simultaneously looking as if he were going to keel over, Tony had no clue), Iron Man continued, "In Catholicism, Limbo's the place you end up if you can't get into Heaven but you're not quite damned enough to get into the big boy Hell. Sort of a middle ground until someone figures out what they're going to do with you."

"I see. And where are the rest of your aforementioned 'sappy friends'?"

"Over at Headquarters, probably getting verbally skinned because of you."

Loki furrowed his brows and changed the subject.

"I suppose that it's your job to babysit, but have you been ordered to starve me too?"

"Nope. I can't cook worth a damn though and I wouldn't even if I could, so it's all on your head. Also, don't eat the pudding. It's Steve's and he'll hurt you, and I won't stop him."

Loki just shrugged and got up as if it didn't bother him in the least. He swayed a little on his feet but the thought of actually getting some solid food was a driving force. Tony remained at the table, arms crossed over his chest and watching the other man like a hawk.

Really, that might be the most surreal moment of his life.

Actually, scratch that.

This was the most surreal life of his life.

Neither said anything as Loki examined the stove, twisting the knobs and testing buttons to make sure he could figure everything out. Unlike Thor (Bless his massive, blonde heart), he didn't ask Tony anything even when it became clear that something was unfamiliar. He merely tested it and either nodded or shook his head. Tony could appreciate the science of the method from one innovative jackass to another even if he couldn't stand the man himself.

"No knives, I assume?" Loki inquired, and Tony looked up to see that he'd proceeded to open up all the drawers.

"Nope. No sharps for you."

Tony would regret sounding so patronizing when twenty minutes later, Loki would be sitting back down at the table with a plate of what looked to be hash browns and a chunk of fried ham steak. At Iron Man's questioning glance in the direction of the diced onions, Loki merely waggled his brows and twirled a pair of forks deftly between his fingers.

Smug, insufferable asshole.

"So what _is_ going to happen to me?" he couldn't resist asking.

"That's the thing about limbo," Tony mused. He rested his chin in his palms and wondered, idly, when he'd scrounged up the ability to converse with Loki that didn't involve statements like _Do you have any idea how much your chaos costs? _and _Does this look like a face that cares? _"You never quite know where you're going."

* * *

><p>Steve Rogers had never actually spoken to Loki before.<p>

Tony was the blabbermouth and found it more difficult to be silent than to avoid being blasted through buildings, which was why he wore the suit and Steve kept his mouth shut. Still, overall Captain American fancied himself a relatively friendly individual and there were few things more awkward than someone in your house that you didn't have a clue of what to say to, but what exactly were you supposed to say to a god who, last left to his own devices, made things explode and generally made himself a royal menace?

From his experiences, Loki was a giant douche. Tony's words, not his, but they fit so he used them, crude as they were. He had always seemed more than a little unhinged and he was way too creative for his own good, and he really was a giant douche. The knowledge that the whole time had essentially been the guy blowing off steam and sticking his fingers in Thor's eyes to be a jerk?

Well, Steve was a humble guy but he wasn't that humble.

And, well. Steve was also a guy who tended to mind his own business, but that didn't change the fact that he was _curious._

Sometime within the last half year though, something changed. The 'pranks' got less dangerous, they got fewer alerts on him as a whole, and at times during their confrontations he seemed more like a guy annoyed at being bothered rather than someone who, last they checked, kind of wanted to take over the place. All in all –and Steve hesitated to even think this because it could always be some sort of horrible, mental thought jinx- he seemed _saner_. Less desperate, less hungry, less whatever it was that he'd been that made Steve look at him and go _I don't want to be where he's been_.

So what do you say to a guy like that?

_Hey, sorry that you're stuck here, powerless (not)?_

_Think we ought to officially arrest you yet?_

As it turned out, all it really took was poking his head through the door to the spare bedroom and offering him some coffee.

It was weirder than anything to crack open the door and realize that yeah, Loki was still there. Catching him wasn't usually any sort of great achievement, but being able to hold him? That was weird and more than a little bit disconcerting, mostly because it made him realize how much it had taken to drain him out like that. He'd never so much as looked out of breath throughout everything he'd done, but keeping Thor away from death's door had taken everything he had. Literally.

"Hey."

Loki glanced his way, stilling his hands which had been clenching in a rhythm into the fabric of his shirt.

"Greetings."

"I just made some coffee," Steve offered, all the words that he'd had planned out so carefully leaving him completely, "Want some?"

Loki blinked at him, clearly thrown. For a few seconds he didn't reply in favor of looking over Steve with such intensity that he made a point to think innocuous thoughts just in case the other man might actually be able to read them. Being the sudden recipient of that stare, Steve wondered not for the first time whether he should have downvoted and secured Loki's fate in being shipped off either to Asgard or to a cell in SHIELD headquarters, because Loki was dangerous at his best. But without his magic and his strength drained the way it was? The guy was essentially cornered and while he might have been weakened in body, his mind had never failed him. A cornered creature, Steve knew, whether it be man or beast, was infinitely more dangerous than one who wasn't.

"…Yes, thank you," Loki replied after deliberation, apparently finding what he'd been looking for in Steve's face, "That would be…appreciated."

The politeness was weird too and pounded in the reminder that this man, despite his actions, had been raised as royalty and had the manners to prove it.

"You know," Steve said when they were seated at the table, each of them holding a mug of coffee, "Before everything went down, I had no idea that you even knew my name." Loki shot him That Look again and green eyes went hazy for just a second in remembrance.

"Of course I did," For the love of—the guy sounded _affronted_, "Why would anyone assume that I wouldn't do my research? What's the phrase? Know your enemy? Sun Tzu was a fascinating individual," Loki mused as an afterthought, inspiring Steve to choke on his coffee. When he could speak again,

"You read The Art of War."

It wasn't a question and Loki cocked his head. Delicately, he lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip, relishing in the bitterness and bite.

"Thor may not indulge in the literary arts, but I was always one to appreciate them regardless of their origin."

Steve regarded him calmly over his own mug, blue eyes intent.

"I've read it too," he said quietly, "Way back when, I needed all the help I could get. For a shrimpy asthmatic kid, it made me feel more powerful." Loki's brows knitted together with consideration and eventually, he inclined his head. "You know, you might be our enemy. But you don't have to stay that way."

"Oh, come off it," Loki scoffed, "Please tell me you're not trying the "rehabilitate the bad guy" tactic. It's so predictable. And it never works." The words were sharp and derisive but there was something else there as well that Steve couldn't put his finger on.

"Where'd you hear that?" Steve shot back and ran a fingertip over the rim of his mug, "Surely Doctor Moran wouldn't have told you that."

That was a shot in the dark that would more likely than not explode in his face, that much Steve was well aware. It was at once a barb and a threat and an opening and they both knew it because at once, Loki stilled entirely and went deceptively calm, setting down his mug with the quietest of clinks. A muscle clenched in his jaw.

"And where, pray tell," he asked dangerously, "Did you hear that name?"

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back.

"She called your phone. I answered. She was worried—'ey!"

Loki lunged across the table and fisted his hands in the lapels of the other man's shirt, dragging him closer to look him straight in the eyes. Steve remembered then exactly why he'd been reminding himself to tread carefully. Loki's hands trembled then, suddenly, and not because of the force he was exerting. Inwardly, Steve breathed a sigh of relief and reached out to untangle them. He had expected it to be more difficult but Loki made it easy by recoiling away from his touch rather than endure it.

"You will tell _no one_ about anything you've found out," Loki snarled, twisting his fingers together in his lap, "Do you hear me? Tell no one or I will make you sorrier than you can even imagine."

"I don't really see what the issue is," Steve muttered in reply, "Not like getting help's a bad thing."

"My personal business is none of yours."

"If you let me let it slip that you've been getting help, I'll get you your phone back," Steve bargained suddenly. Instantly he was the recipient of that disconcertingly intent stare. Part of him was screaming furiously, what was he doing, making a deal with a guy like this? Why? Making a deal with someone known for lies and trickery might be one of the stupidest things he'd ever done.

"…why?"

"Honestly? It's mostly because I'm a soft-hearted dupe and I think that everyone deserves the chance to get help if they need it. It'll still be bugged, but I'll get it back to you. There is another catch."

Green eyes shuttered.

"And that is?"

"I'd like you to keep seeing her. Somehow, I'll find some way. Even if it's appointments by telephone, I'd like for you to keep seeing her." Steve shifted, suddenly a little uncomfortable. "I'm an old-fashioned guy and I know that sometimes the way I think can seem a little archaic. Back in my…my time," he still couldn't quite help the stutter that happened when he said that, "Shrinks, therapists…they were seen as useless and quacky. Suitable only for mental hospitals and New Age hippies. But that's wrong, that's totally wrong. I'll make sure that no one uses it against you. I swear."

What had his life become?

Finally, Loki nodded. His face was unreadable and masterfully blank but Steve knew that behind the expression, the man was likely thinking over every scenario, every twist, and whether or not he could make it beneficial to him.

"You are an idiot indeed, making a deal with the god of lies," Loki said quietly, resting his chin in his palm, "What's in it for you?"

"Other than finally being able to talk about something that's been driving me nuts? That's reward enough."

Horror of horrors, Loki smirked at him.

"I believe the appropriate phrase in response is 'touché'. You may well regret this, Steve Rogers, and be grateful that I'm being kind enough to warn you in advance."

Steve shrugged.

"I think I'll take my chances," he said with finality. He waited until Loki took another sip of coffee before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the sleek phone that he'd nicked out of Tony's lab. Resolutely, he slid it across the table until Loki reached out a hand to intercept it.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for the delay in posting; somewhere along the line I've caught some sort of stomach flu that's been making me throw up my insides. Naturally, it's been difficult to focus on anything aside from keeping myself alive and hydrated. Thank you so much for reading, and please leave any feedback or comments in a review for me! Your opinions and knowing that people are reading really keep me motivated and excited to post a new chapter.<p> 


	10. Halite

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: So we've hit chapter ten already~ Thank you so much to everyone who's reading, who's reviewed, who's put an alert on this story…I appreciate everything you have to say and I hope you all continue to enjoy this little story of mine.<p>

The funny thing about this story is that really, it was originally meant to be a relatively silly, cracky little one-shot.

Then plot happened.

On with the show!

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><p>Chapter Ten: Halite<p>

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><p>Loki had always been a child predisposed to nervous habits. Thor was the one who bounded off into the underbrush while Loki had tended to hang back, either fretting or plotting and twisting his hands (sometimes literally) until he couldn't take it anymore and followed after him and either saved his stupid princely butt or got them into worse trouble than they'd started. They were no longer children but the major things hadn't changed, which was how Loki found himself falling back into his usual habit of pacing in front of the closed door.<p>

He hadn't set his phone down since he'd gotten it back.

Accepting Rogers' deal had been one of his worse ideas simply because if he'd been thinking properly, he likely would have told him where he could stuff his bargain instead.

Loki's face twisted with disgust and he held out an arm. The tightened tether that he held to his recovering magic strained against the dampeners , forcing its way through to shimmer just slightly.

He forced off his familiar form, the form that he could not and would not accept as not being his, and his fingertips began to go blue.

Instantly, Loki stiffened and reshifted, ignoring the immediate fatigue that washed over him and made him sway on his feet. It would have been easier, he knew, to shove his hand deep within his pockets and leave the room to 'accidentally' brush up against any of the warm bodies that inhabited that mansion but he couldn't, not right now. Not when he found himself shaking with loathing and revulsion and he knew that he wouldn't be able to hide that, not from people who had been specifically ordered to keep a close watch on him.

A sad state to find himself in.

He almost would have preferred legitimate confinement to this fallacy of freedom, would have preferred to rage and snarl and fight than suffer this.

Loki longed, suddenly and surprisingly, for his apartment in New York City. It wasn't quite home, but what was now? Home didn't exist, not for people like him. Next time he got captured, he'd remember to set a charm to his plants because his were all definitely dead by now. Were the shelves covered in dust? Were his books still in their places where he'd left them? …was all of his food bad by now?

The blue stayed in his mind.

It was disgusting.

Despicable.

_Wrong_.

Just like him.

"_You know, Loki, you seem quite ready to believe that there's something inherently wrong with you."_

"_Do I? I think I'm fantastic, actually."_

"_Really?"_

"_Of course."_

Surprise, surprise, the liar had lied.

No one could love a monster, not even the monster himself.

* * *

><p>"…you gave him back his phone." Tony's voice was incredulous and Steve shrugged from where he sat on the couch, sheepish but unrepentant. "What the hell is wrong with you? Has everyone completely gone off the deep end? Am I the only one still sane? …god, that is a terrifying thought. Where the hell is Thor? Maybe he can use that hammer of his to lobotomize me."<p>

Blue eyes rolled skyward.

"Yeah, okay, so I gave him back the phone. Not like he can really mess with it too much, not with the way we're keeping an eye on him and the way he is right now. Have you noticed the way he moves? Sways and nearly falls over half the time he gets up."

"Could be a trick. He's kind of known as a –GASP- trickster."

Steve huffed a little but didn't get up, leaning back to recline against the plush back.

"Or I could have made a bargain. A useful bargain."

Addressing the heavens, Tony threw his hands into the air.

"Are you hearing this, God? God-God, not any of you Norse assholes? This sweet, naïve idiot over here made a bargain. With the _goddamned lying god._"

"Oh, cut the dramatics. I told you, useful bargain."

Tony stopped his pacing in front of his friend, looming down at him and trying to be intimidating when really, he just appeared frazzled.

"And what kind of bargain did you make, exactly?"

Steve smiled in a fashion that wouldn't have been out of place on Loki's face. It was a subdued look but dripped in pure, unadulterated _I know something you don't know._ Maybe smug was catching. Glancing shiftily to the upstairs, he beckoned Tony down to his level with a crooked finger and brought their faces closer so that he could whisper.

"Loki, _that_ Loki, has spent, if I were to take a guess, the last six months going to see a therapist. A certified mental health professional by the name of Doctor Caroline Moran." It was worth every bit of the agony and self-restraint to not say anything just to see Tony's jaw drop now. Was that what it felt like for a villain to have a plan go perfectly? Tony gaped and began to sputter.

"Wait—wait, _what_? Wait, you said Moran—that's why you had me look into her? You dirty, sneaky little-!"

Steve preened.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Other than the fact that it was killing me to keep that to myself? The phone was a goodwill gesture. I'd just like you to consider, maybe mentally calculate, how much damage Loki's caused in the last six months. Give me a number, or even a comparison to the norm. What's it look like?"

Tony glared at him but nevertheless performed the requested mental gymnastics. His face went slack. Steve's smile widened.

"…holy shit."

"Right?" Steve prodded, verbally and literally, reaching out and shaking Tony's shoulder back and forth.

"If you add up the damage he's done in the last six months…I could pay that in a week. Shit, shit, shit. That's like, my booze budget."

"Maybe you ought to make a few appointments yourself," Steve muttered, trying not to pull the judging face. "Also, you're not allowed to use this against him in any way. No teasing, no making fun of him, no using that information to make him feel weak. There is no shame in what he's done."

"Hush up, you wet blanket," Tony snapped back, pulling away and beginning to pace again up and down the length of the room. Suddenly, he stopped short and whipped around to face Steve again. "…what would I have to do to get you to make a phone call for me?"

"If it's to Fury and regarding what I think it is? There is not enough money in the world to tempt me."

* * *

><p>"Brother, I wish to speak to you."<p>

"I don't," Loki said, cocking his head from where he sat on the bed, spreading himself out further to take up as much space as he could when Thor entered the room, a determined look on his face.

"Are you sulking?"

"I'm ruminating on my situation. Go away."

The request was ignored, completely and utterly. Instead of turning away, Thor took another step into the room, closing the door behind him. Loki watched him with all the wariness of a cat put out in the rain too often. Subconsciously, he reached out for his magic. Mental fingertips trailed over the glass case that kept him from accessing the power he knew he still had, close enough to see and feel but too quashed and weakened to use.

That knowledge only served to make him bristle.

"Why do you despise me so, Loki?" The question was spoken softly in a tone that didn't belong on Thor, said so softly that it couldn't be anything other than sincere.

Anything Loki said in that tone of voice would automatically been suspect whether he was lying or not.

Thor, though… Thor was honest and Loki hated him for it.

"What have I done to you to inspire this. If you told me, I could—"

"Shut _up_," Loki snapped, daring Thor –not his brother, not his brother, not his brother- to take a step closer. He might not have his magic but that wasn't his only weapon by far, despite how naked and exposed he felt without it. "Just shut up. What makes you so special," he continued, voice low and venomous, "That makes you think you have so much to do with this? Shining Thor, always the center of everything, right?"

"Do I not though, at least in this? Loki—"

"I hate you. I hate Fa—Odin. I hate him too. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him, I hate him."

"And what has he done to you? Tell me."

Thor made a movement as if to reach out and grip Loki about the shoulders but thought better of it at the last moment.

Loki shivered.

Blue, blue, blue, everything was blue and disgusting and _lies_, nothing but lies. The liar lied and the monster always died. His vision swam and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear it. Everything just blurred all the more.

_No, Loki_.

Loki shook his head. Once, twice, three times before he stopped himself and looked away because if he didn't, he'd end up hurling something heavy and painful in the other man's direction.

"You have ever been a mystery to me, Loki, but never have I been so ill-adapted to ease what ails you."

That was it.

Loki scrambled to his feet and took the four steps needed to approach Thor, getting up in his face. The bulkier man didn't back away or recoil, choosing instead to stand steadily, even when Loki pulled back a fist to slam it into his shoulder.

"What ails me has nothing to do with you, will have nothing to do with you, and even if it did, _I_ want nothing to do with you," he hissed furiously, suddenly digging his teeth into his cheek hard enough to draw blood. "You would do yourself the favor to listen to Stark and hand me off to someone else because you're too soft-hearted by far for this job."

"What is wrong with you?" Thor lashed out to grab Loki by the wrists, grip firm and unyielding and too gentle, too gentle by far, "What is wrong with you, Loki? Why do you refuse to be helped—"

"Because you can't help me!" Loki bellowed in reply, pulse roaring in his ears and fury surging through his veins even as his voice began to pitch, higher and higher and higher until he was screaming the words that tore out of him like hurricane gusts, out of control and bitingly honest. "You can't help me!"

His voice broke and then all he could do was laugh helplessly, broken and razed and so, so blue.

Thor didn't let him go but stared at him as if he'd never seen Loki before in his life. All of the frustration had slipped out of him and those blue eyes only held concern and sadness. Still giggling, Loki sagged to the floor, his wrists still restrained in Thor's hands that had always been larger than his own. Awkwardly, he curled in on himself and didn't know when his laughter had turned into something more akin to a sob, haunting and half-hysterical, the kind of noise a man made when there was no other option.

"Brother…"

"I'm not your brother! Stop _saying_ that!"

"Why do you insist on saying such things?" Thor protested. His expression was openly hurt. "Father told me that he'd adopted you. It doesn't matter that we don't share blood between us; you are my brother and my parents are yours—"

The laughter that Loki had just managed to quell came up again and when his hands were released, he wrapped his arms around himself in a mockery of a hug.

"O-oh my—ahahahaha, you don't get it!" he forced out between peals of mirth, "You don't get it at all! Of course the Allfather wouldn't have told you. You don't know! If you did…"

Thor knelt down and grabbed Loki by the shoulders, shaking him briskly back and forth, all the while feeling them tremble under his fingers. For all of his eccentricities, Loki had never been prone to mania, not in all the years they'd spent together. He'd oft laugh when teased as a defense mechanism, but this…

"What don't I get? You're running me in circles!" Thor insisted and as if a switch had been flipped, Loki quieted, staring up at Thor. He was grinning wildly but his eyes were dark, agonized, and openly in pain. The whipcrack quick reaction was more than a little disconcerting.

"You want to know…" Loki murmured lowly under his breath. His hands clenched and unclenched in the hem of his shirt. "You really want to know."

He didn't know when the tears had begun to well up but they didn't fall.

Loki's movements were jerky as he shook himself out of Thor's grip, settling back on his haunches.

He held up a hand, pale and long-fingered, and wrenched his sleeve up with the other.

He forced himself to shift just the tiniest bit, allowing the blue to creep up from his fingertips, up his arm, up to his shoulder. Thor's face drained of all its color and his mouth dropped open. He made a motion to say something but no sound came out.

All he could do was stare, horror written all over his face.

"Allfather told you that I was adopted," Loki said. "But he didn't tell you where he adopted me from."

"W-what—what?"

Loki smiled, one that didn't reach his eyes.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" he asked lightly, examining his arm as if it wasn't a part of him, like it was a horrifying specimen laid out under a glass case. Thor couldn't move, his eyes wide and stunned. He reached out, excruciatingly slowly, and Loki prepared for whatever would come, be it a blow or a recoil.

In the end, it was neither.

As if expecting him to dissolve or shatter at contact, Thor brushed his fingers against Loki's bared shoulder. Within seconds, Jotun blue was replaced with Loki's normal Aesir pale everywhere Thor had touched. Loki froze and fought the urge to shudder. Made braver, Thor repeated the motion in another area to chase away the evidence of Loki's heritage.

"Why does it change?" he finally asked as if to force himself through his own shock. Numbly, Loki shook his head.

"I…don't know. It's not foreign spellwork and it's not of my own doing. It's not my normal shapeshifting either. Maybe just one more reason I was left in that temple," Loki ground out bitterly. "I suppose 'Father' wouldn't have told you simply because he feared you might slay me in the cradle if you'd known." Thor gave the tiniest flinch. "Or maybe it all worked out the way he planned. Why else, then, would he encourage such hatred?"

"Loki…"

"So which is it, Thor? Can you still claim me as kin even knowing this? Even knowing that I am not only not the son of Odin, but the son of Laufey? Does it make you rage? Or is it worse, now that you know that I slew my own father for being a monster?"

For a period, all Thor was capable of was breathing raggedly.

"You had better hope that I remain incapacitated because when I get out of here? I am going to make everything burn," Loki promised through the silence. As if shaking himself out of a dream, he got to his feet and left Thor kneeling on the floor to settle himself back down on the bed. He turned away and pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them to hide the moisture in his eyes. He wouldn't look over to see Thor get to his feet.

"Loki, my _brother_. You have done terrible things. Monstrous things. But you have a _good heart _and I don't know where you lost sight of it, but be sure that I haven't. I will not hand you over to SHIELD if I can help it, but it may end up out of my control."

A hand came down and stroked dark hair, just once, before Thor was dragging in a harsh breath and half-running out the door.

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><p>AN2: Please review if you have anything to say, be it good or bad! Thank you very much for reading.<p> 


	11. Serpentine

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Eleven: Serpentine<p>

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><p>"<em>Not a chance in hell."<em>

"Oh, come on. What's the harm?" Tony wheedled, pacing up and down the length of his garage. He'd been unable to convince Steve that yes, of _course_ he was a masochist and it was always so nice to have a chat with Nick Fury, and in the end it had come down to him to make the call.

According to Steve, it was because he'd done the big work and he was going to be making the other call.

Tony still thought he'd cheated somewhere along the way.

"_The harm? The _harm_? The harm is his presence in the first place. What you're suggesting is like mowing the damn lawn with a nuke. If I had my way, he'd be in a high-security isolation cell with 24-hour surveillance and you juveniles would be helping out at the animal shelter."_

"Come on, it's not that bad," Tony insisted, not even believing his own words. Clearly, Fury could tell, because his only response was a dubious silence on the other end. Ugh. "Thor'd go for the animal shelter idea; he loves puppies." He hoped that Steve at least was enjoying his own phone call.

And by enjoying, Tony actually meant that he hoped that his teammate was ready to tear out his own hair.

"_You do realize that he could be playing you all for fools?"_

"Always a possibility with Loki."

"…"

"Look. Just—give it a chance. I'm only going to ask this once, but…please? Give it a chance. Worse comes to worst, we're there to do damage control."

Tony hated his life.

"_You're _seriously_ asking me to fly in his _therapist_."_

"Are _you_ seriously asking me _that_?" Tony sputtered, irritated. He didn't like Loki by any means, no. But did he dislike not getting his way? Well…Tony Stark had always had been kind of a spoiled kid. "That guy in there? That guy is all kinds of messed up and way too powerful for my peace of mind, and right in front of us is a way to keep the peace we've got. She wants to treat him, he is apparently okay with being treated, and it works. Has he done all kinds of shitty things? Yeah. Should he pay for them? Hell yes he should. But frankly, right now I'm a little more concerned with the mental state of a god who's been having the equivalent of a nervous breakdown for the last millennium and who can blow up the world with a sneeze than I am with you. So yeah, I'm flying in his therapist. Deal with it or be out a couple of superheroes because if you so much as breathe suspiciously near that guy? Loki will be the least of your problems when Thor finds out."

Silence on the other end and Tony wondered if he'd gone too far by climbing onto his soapbox.

It was generally frowned upon to berate the head of a high profile, government organization.

"…_are you trying to bully me, Stark?"_

"I'd prefer to call it something like strongly suggesting, myself." Tony examined his nails, all the while trying to keep his voice light and nonchalant. And irritating. He couldn't forget irritating.

Finally, _finally_, he was granted a sigh.

"_I can't believe I'm saying this, but fine. There are rules, though. One, no coercing the lady. If she doesn't want to throw herself into this, you leave her alone. Two, you will arrange her accommodations yourself; I suggest the hotel a few blocks down and renting her a car. Three, any 'sessions' will be happening with at least two people watching the camera. I don't trust that guy as far as I can throw him."_

"You know, Clint said the same thing," Tony mused, "Anything else?"

"_With you? Where do I even start, Stark?"_

"Funny."

"_Any shit happens? It's on your heads."_

Mockingly, Tony gave a salute into the phone.

"Aye-aye," he replied, "Loki, our responsibility, got it. Is the animal shelter option still open?"

There was a click of a phone being disconnected.

Tony hoped fervently, again, that Steve was somewhere in the vicinity wanting to bash his head against the wall.

* * *

><p>"<em>Doctor Moran's office. This is Sally, how can I help you?"<em>

"Uh…" Steve was thrown briefly; he had been expecting to get the woman herself, not a receptionist, "I have a matter of some importance to present to the doctor, could I speak to her?"

"_Hold on just one moment; she might still be in an appointment."_

That explained it, then. A jaunty tune that sounded like it belonged in an elevator began to play in Steve's ear and he thought that it would have been more fitting if he'd had a phone with a cord to twirl around his finger instead of this high-tech telephone that he only knew how to use about half of.

"_Hello, this is Doctor Moran."_

Steve straightened.

"Hello," he greeted, feeling just a little bit awkward, "This is Steve Rogers…again."

"_Oh, hello, Captain." _Steve could practically feel her smile through the receiver, _"Thank you for letting me know when Loki woke up. What can I do for you?"_

He shifted.

"I…we," he amended, "_We_ had a bit of a proposition."

"_Mr. Rogers…Steve, if you wouldn't mind, just spit it out."_

"."

Silence. Steve just breathed after his slew of words, wondering if she'd gotten any of it.

Finally,

"_When you say 'come out here', I am going to assume that you mean to California?" _The doctor's voice was unreadable as were her feelings on the matter. Steve smiled nervously and ran his hand through his hair even though he knew she couldn't see it.

"Er…yes?"

"_And is this a mandate?"_ She asked delicately. Damn it all, he still couldn't tell what she thought on the matter. This was why Steve preferred face-to-face communication. _"Rather, is asking me just a way of making me feel like I have a choice in the matter?"_

"N-no!" Steve exclaimed, eyes going wide, "Please, this is definitely a choice! If you don't want to, no one's going to make you or bully you into it. It's just…we can't under good conscience just let him free. If we do, SHIELD gets to swoop in and handle it their way, which will just lead to people dying and a pointless amount of destruction. And I know that he's improved, a _lot_, since he's started seeing you. I'd rather see him better than imprisoned or killed and I don't want anyone else to die either if he thinks he needs to defend himself."

All was quiet on the other end and Steve decided to take it an run with it.

"In all honesty, my boss isn't too happy about this. He's not too happy about any of it, actually. But I—" Might as well go for broke, "I made a deal. With Loki. I gave him back his phone if he'd continue to see you. So I have to try my best to follow through. Please."

"_You aren't what I expected when I thought about what it would feel like to talk to superheroes."_

"I'm not what I expect when I think about superheroes either."

That inspired a laugh and Steve relaxed minutely. At least she didn't sound so tense anymore.

"_If I were to accept this proposition of yours, what would be the itinerary? Flights, lodging, provisions?"_

"We'd pay for it," Well, Tony'd probably be paying for it if he didn't manage to annoy Fury into it instead, "All of it. Flights, hotel, rental car, etcetera."

"_Loki isn't my usual patient."_

"Is he anyone's usual anything?"

"_And yet at the same time, he's not that different. He's my patient and I made a promise that I'd do my best to help him." _A pause, _"Give me three days to sort things out. I'll forward you the details when I get them."_

For the first time since the conversation began, Steve allowed himself to breathe a sigh of legitimate relief.

"Thank you _so much_."

"_Don't thank me just yet. There's a lot to be done."_

* * *

><p>When Loki dreams, he sees a lot of different things.<p>

He sees a bright world that he's never felt right in, that he's spent years trying desperately to turn into _home, home, home_. He sees a darkened world of frost and snow, so cold that he can't even feel it, like a balmy spring day, that _could have, would have, might have_ been home if he hadn't ruined it all. Sometimes when he dreams, he remembers things that he cannot possibly remember, of being alone and scared and so very small and wondering in the simplest terms possible why he'd been left.

It's only when he dreams that he can say it.

_I could have been taller, bigger, better, brighter. Couldn't you have waited a little longer to leave me there? Couldn't you have given me a chance? I could have, I could have, I could have—!_

_I could have done it._

Sometimes he sees a bridge made of rainbows that's shattered and broken and Loki thinks it's ironic because he's broken too.

Maybe he's always been and just been too good at hiding it. Or too stupid to accept it. Or too stubborn and obstinate and _not good enough_ to just roll over and admit it.

It's only when he dreams that he can think about how Gungnir felt, sliding out of his palms. How cold the void was even for him, how it took everything he had to weave his way in between Yggdrasil's branches, to find the spaces and fill them with everything that made him _Loki_ to find his way out for no other reason than he didn't want to be cold anymore.

He never expected to see the light of day again and when he opened his eyes again to see that once again he'd failed at something important, the rage he'd felt put all others to shame. He remembers it as one does a precious childhood memory, that he feels good to burn after freezing for so long.

Loki admires Thor in that he succumbs to rage before despair and it's something that he'd give anything for because despair just comes so _easily_ and if he doesn't work at it, he can barely make himself open his eyes.

He'd rather burn than freeze.

Sometimes, _sometimes_, on a rare night, Loki dreams of a city that's never quiet, whose lights never cease to find the tiniest crack in his blinds, of small and work-worn hands on his, of warm leather and good food and a sweet and flowery scent that fills his head. He dreams of seeing sparking blue eyes and feeling only affection and what he knows intimately as love without the sharp tang of resentment tainting his heart.

He remembers when he played jokes for fun _because_ they were fun, not because he felt it was the only way that someone would ever look at him first. Loki remembers that people used to laugh, but he also remembers how they laughed when he hit the ground during training, the sword or the ax clumsy and cumbersome and completely unsuitable in his hands.

Oh, he was always _proficient_ with nearly every weapon he'd trained in, but proficient isn't good enough.

Not with having Odin for a father or Thor for a brother.

Standing next to them, tall and broad and shining, slim and delicate Loki with his magic and daggers and disarmingly beautiful hair ornaments that could cut and kill with a flick looked all the more the coward.

He's heard all of it, from teasing jibes to barbs that dig in as if they've fangs themselves, that a son of Odin who doesn't look a warrior and practices sorcery instead is better fit for a consort than a prince.

It's when he feels the lump of ice inside him begin to grow again that he craves fire and when he overheats, he again begins to freeze.

Sometimes he dreams of what could have been if he hadn't. If he hadn't a lot of things, actually. If he hadn't let the Jotun into Asgard, if he hadn't lied, if he hadn't _tried_, if he hadn't let go. It's enough to make his head hurt. Loki knows exactly what would be waiting for him if he hadn't let go of Gungnir, even in his dreams.

The removal of his magic, definitely.

Imprisonment, no question.

Almost certain disownment.

That much at least, Loki was sure of.

He wonders if he'll ever find home. He doesn't even know where it is anymore. The closest thing that comes to mind is his apartment in New York, new and barely lived in but it's his and the things in it are his and _him_. Loki wonders if he'll ever see it again or if he'll remain a prisoner in this big house forever, locked in under the covers of protection and observation.

He wonders why he even cares.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you enjoyed this, or even if you'd rather smack me in the face with a salmon.<p> 


	12. Alabaster

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Twelve: Alabaster<p>

* * *

><p>Loki hadn't left his room during the daylight in three days.<p>

In contrast, Thor hadn't entered and had, in fact, appeared to be completely unable to so much as look at the door, much less open it.

Normally, Tony would have thought it a positive thing if not for the fact that after a week or so of relative peace that came with a minimum of thrown items (courtesy of Tony himself) and threats of disembowelment (thanks to Loki), it was damn weird. Hell, they'd actually kind of settled into something that in any other circumstance might have resembled a routine.

Tony liked routines because he liked to break them.

When Loki broke a routine?

It couldn't be anything but foreboding.

Tony did what he always did when things got tense: he sat back with a glass of Maker's Mark and ignored Steve sending him disapproving looks from across the room.

He wasn't even _doing_ anything. Tony checked the security tapes and for the last three days, all the guy had done was sit there. He'd get up and pace occasionally but mostly he sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed and hands running through his hair which he hadn't even bothered to bitch about wanting to style.

He hadn't looked as if he'd been bitching about much of anything, just spent a lot of time staring at his hands like they didn't belong to him.

It was kind of freaking Tony the hell out, to be honest, if only because Loki wasn't the resigned sort and Thor wasn't the avoiding sort. At all. When Loki didn't like something, he fixed it whether the rest of the world thought it needed fixed (it didn't, usually) and if Thor wanted something? He asked or demanded or shoved his way through hell itself to get there.

"Oi, Steve. You let tall dark and moody know about his doctor arriving today?"

"He has a name, you know," the other man chided from the kitchen, "You might call him by it."

"I don't even call you by your name half the time."

Steve sighed and glanced out the window, clearly thinking.

"I told him yesterday but I don't think he was listening to me. Where's Thor?"

Tony shrugged.

"Dunno," he replied, "Out, I think. Probably lunching with the lady."

"_She _has a name too." And there was the judging face again, the one that said everything Tony needed to know. Mission accomplished, though not exactly a hard mission because Steve's morals and Tony's morals were not as good of friends as their owners were. "Anyway, yes, I did. Not sure if he was actually listening to me, but I did tell him." Tony put his drink down and got to his feet, walking over to join Steve in the kitchen.

"So," he said lowly, "Do you have any idea what the hell's going on here?"

"In what regard?" Steve countered as he stepped back, the motion accompanied by a single raised eyebrow.

"When was the last time you saw Thor back away from anything? Or see Loki pissed off and not dig his teeth in? The guy was routinely making things explode and Thor was still trying to get through to him; what the hell changed?"

That was the weirdest thing.

When Tony thought about Thor and Loki fighting, what instantly came to mind was destruction, fire and explosions and horrifying things like frogs raining from the sky if Loki was feeling ironic. This was an implosion, quiet and insidious and he would have preferred the mayhem to the silence. It wasn't _natural_. Steve made a face and when Tony glanced over into the mirror, he found it matched on his own.

"It's like they're _scared _of something. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it."

_True that_, Tony muttered in his head. Up until now, Loki had actually been relatively pleasant in an annoying and unnerving way but now it was if he'd completely shut down, like everything – awful and not-so awful, mostly awful- that made him Loki had been locked up and all that was left on the outside was a pliable, silent shell.

Tony'd rather have the frogs.

"What's this doctor like, anyway?" Tony asked, elaborating when his friend shot him a questioning and vaguely unimpressed stare, "You're the only one who's actually spoken to her. She sound like the hardass type or the sexy pantsuit type?" The unimpressed look intensified.

"I wouldn't know what either of those sound like," Steve replied, voice just a little bit tight and annoyed, "But she sounded…nice. Like someone you _want_ to talk to, not someone you're paying to talk to. If that makes any sense at all. I think it's the calm."

"Well, she'd have to be, don't you think?" Tony commented as he leaned against the counter, "Treating Loki? You'd have to be damn near unflappable to handle that basket of issues without dropping it like a hot rock."

The doorbell rang and both men straightened, locking eyes and saying nothing.

Tony narrowed his eyes.

Steve narrowed his right back.

Then Captain America made a run for the front door to try and get there first, Tony on his heels.

"Get out of the way and quit being a nuisance," he scolded, pushing Tony out of the way long enough to open the door.

There stood the good doctor, standing on the doorstep with a backpack in her hands. Her rectangular glasses weren't on her face but set atop her head, the beaded strands that looped around her neck glittering in the sunshine. For a good thirty seconds, they all just looked at each other. Steve made a motion to put out his hand.

"Oh my god, I was right. Ginger Trelawney!"

Steve's hand made contact with the back of Tony's head.

"I am so sorry," Steve apologized, reaching out for a proper handshake, sending Tony the dirtiest of all dirty looks. "He can apparently invent a battle suit in a cave but not a verbal filter."

"Hello, Steve," Doctor Moran greeted mildly. She didn't look put out or offended by Tony's assessment; on the contrary, she'd sent him a funny little half smile at his comment as if he'd just told a secret joke, "It's good to finally meet you in person," She cocked her head in Tony's direction, "And you must be Tony Stark."

"You got it," the man replied with a flippy little salute. He allowed Steve to push him out the way so that they could let their guest inside. To her credit, she did the minimum of staring around, settling instead for asking,

"Would it be alright if I skipped the tour and went ahead to see Loki?"

Steve swallowed.

"Yeah, uh, of course. He's upstairs. By the way…our boss. He said that—"

"I hope you don't have a problem with cameras," Tony supplied, "Head of SHIELD says that Loki gets two babysitters and camera surveillance."

Doctor Moran stiffened, one hand clenching around the strap of her bag. Her eyes flashed.

"I most certainly do have a problem with cameras," she said tightly, "I don't know how much you know about this kind of process, but it's intensely private. The person seeking treatment has to feel _safe_ and how's he supposed to do that if he knows he's being filmed and people he knows are behind the camera? This works because the patient trusts his doctor to be in control and keep him safe, and I'm not in control like this. No, absolutely not. That will not do."

Steve squirmed. This was the first expression of temper that the doctor had shown through any of their conversations and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. The surveillance demand hadn't sat well with him either but what was he supposed to when it had been hard enough to get Fury to cave in the first place? Doctor Moran was glaring in the way that said that she wasn't going to be budging on this and Tony was beginning to look frustrated as well.

"How about…" he began, shifting when the both of them looked to him, "Can you accept the cameras if we turn off the sound? We…we _have_ to have the cameras; he's been under watch this whole time anyway and we can't get rid of the magic dampeners at all, but if we can't hear anything…is that better?" Steve steadfastly ignored the venomous glare that Tony was sending him, "I don't want this to be pointless. I don't. But that was one of the conditions; we have to have the cameras."

The look on Doctor Moran's face was unreadable and she glanced up the stairs as if she could see that closed door herself, though it was at the other end of the house.

Finally, the tension drained out of her shoulders.

"If it's the only way…" she grumbled under her breath, reminding Steve so much of a grouchy Tony that he had to suppress the snicker. "Upstairs, you said?"

"Third door on your right…" Steve said, wondering why he was doing the following when Doctor Moran turned on a heel and began to march up the stairs as if she lived there. When she lay her hand on Loki's door, he slipped into the room on the other side.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. The next will be longer; I just thought that this bit deserved its own chapter, considering that the next one opens up a whole new can of worms. Thanks for reading! Please leave me a review if you have anything to say, even if it's negative. I'm willing to engage in a pitchfork battle with anyone who asks.<p> 


	13. Chalcedony

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

_Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No._

* * *

><p>Chapter Thirteen: Chalcedony<p>

* * *

><p>The door opened.<p>

Loki didn't look up when Doctor Moran entered the room, remaining where he sat on the bed with his knees pulled up to his chin.

"Hello, Loki," she greeted as if this was one of their normal sessions, as if they were both back in her office in New York and Loki had just arrived in his customary flurry of motion mixed with resigned sullenness. There was only one chair in the room, straight-backed and solid but she sat down in it anyway. For a few moments she simply sat, glancing over her patient.

To be honest, she could barely recognize him.

While being prone to long, rambling rants when given the proper motivation, Loki wasn't unknown for being quiet, especially when anxious or uncomfortable. However, it had always been clear that while he might not have said anything, he was always active on the inside, thinking and feeling and _being_. This wasn't any Loki she recognized.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked, voice low and soft and hopeless, as if he couldn't fathom what on Earth she could possibly be doing here.

"Isn't it obvious?" she replied, "Unless I'm mistaken, you didn't fire me. I'm still your doctor. It's been a while; we've got a lot to make up for."

Sighing, Loki uncurled his posture and straightened. He didn't move from the bed but instead crossed his legs to sit Indian-style, scooting backwards to lean against the wall. He wouldn't meet her eyes but it was clear that he was uncomfortable, unhappy, and just generally unsatisfied.

"There's a camera in each corner," he commented as if discussing the weather.

"I know, and they're on mute. You can say whatever you want," Doctor Moran told him as she scooted her chair closer to the bed while still maintaining the proper professional distance that she'd adjusted for him. Some people liked it best when she was closer; some preferred her to be on the other end of the room. Loki was somewhere in the middle.

Green eyes flicked upwards, darting into each corner as if looking for proof.

"You don't look well."

"Eternal thanks for the news flash," Loki grumbled and for a moment sounded like himself, "Really, I couldn't have gone on without that crucial information. You've contributed immensely to my continued existence."

Well.

Genuine nastiness like that hadn't been around since their first few meetings.

Doctor Moran frowned at him.

"Don't you think that was a bit uncalled for?" she asked mildly.

"Nothing is called for," Loki began at normal volume at first before his voice lowered, despite the assurances that no sound would be filtering through, "Therefore, everything must be uncalled for. That's simply the way things are."

He was looking away again.

"But that's where you're wrong," Doctor Moran informed him, "You know how this works. You know how _I_ work. I only ask for two things from you and as long as you do your best to give them, I'll be able to do my best to help you."

Honesty and trust as best he could.

They'd been doing so well.

For a few seconds they were silent, just until Loki's breathing evened out and again and a little bit of the tension and outright antagonism left him.

"Let's start simple," she stated, catching a familiar scowl that said plainly, _You only say things are simple when they're anything but_. He was right, of course, and equally wrong. Simple and difficult were not the same things at all. "Talk to me about how you're feeling right this moment. Anything that pops into your head."

"I'm not going to talk to you."

"Okay."

Loki watched the wall and the doctor watched him. Eventually, she reached down and picked up her bag. It didn't escape her attention that Loki almost immediately tensed up warily and she'd have given anything to be back in her office where they _both_ felt comfortable because it was more than obvious that she was out of sorts and he was upset and resentful already. They hadn't even started yet.

Breathing deeply, Doctor Moran reached into her bag and pulled out the stuffed bear that had sat in the corner since she'd started her practice, the one that had never actually been thrown until Loki smacked her in the face with it that one day. Loki glanced at it just quickly enough for her to set it on the bed next to him.

"At least snarl at me or something."

"If I start snarling, I'll start screaming, and then I'll start breaking things," the tightness was back in Loki's voice and he didn't move a muscle though his hands betrayed him by clenching ever so slightly into the blankets, "And then the cavalry will arrive to put me out of my misery. Did you know that your mortal drugs don't work on people like me? Rather, they do… eventually. It just takes a much higher dose and oftentimes comes along with unforeseen complications. Dependency, to start, and all those other fun side effects. I have no desire to be anyone's lab rat, or to give anyone any excuse to—" he broke off, shutting his mouth with a snap.

More than what he said, it was what he didn't say that Doctor Moran paid attention to.

It was all too obvious now… dampeners on his magic, what she recognized as recovering muscle weakness, and confinement in a house however large with people he considered his enemies and against whom now he would have no reasonable defense. Loki was _scared _and bluffing his way through it as best he could. He was a good actor but he wasn't paying attention to the fact that she was watching him just as intensely as he was watching the corners of the room.

"It's okay if you feel like you need to start screaming," she told him, "The cameras are rolling but no one can hear you—"

"How do you know?" he snapped in retaliation. His eyes were wide with his pupils blown out, "You have no idea!"

"I know that Steve Rogers goes through a lot of trouble to keep his word," she interrupted quietly, forcing him to quiet as well to hear her, "And I know that you know it too. You are many things, Loki, but an idiot isn't one of them. I know that you're upset and I know it's hard, but I need you to trust me to help you. I know that this has always been the hardest part for you, but you need to know that the _only_ reason that I'm here is because it's you. Not because Tony Stark is rich as sin, or because Steve Rogers is a superhero, or because I feel the need to pander." Loki's gaze was fixed back on her again and Doctor Moran intended to keep it that way. In a perfect world, the person needing treatment would do most of the talking. Sometimes, you needed to give enough of yourself in return to make it worth it. "You know this job, it's a _selfish_ job. I'm allowed to think about my patients before the rest of the world. I'm here for _you_ because your –mental, emotional, physical- well being matters to me, and everyone else can piss off if they don't like it."

As if he couldn't help it, the tiniest snicker escaped Loki's throat before he cut it off by dropping his face into his palms.

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life," she continued, "Just tell me something important. Anything. Right now, anything at all is fine."

How could green eyes be so unnaturally bright?

"…I don't—I can't. I can't."

And in those few words, Loki said more than he had this entire time: _I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared. _

"What is it that you can't?" she asked gently.

"It's too much. There's too _much_." Long, pale hands came up to tangle fiercely in dark hair and Doctor Moran winced when she saw him give a vicious tug, but she didn't reach out to stop him. Open distress was better than the indifference.

"Loki, listen to me for a moment. Close your eyes and breathe. What's in your head? I'm good but I'm no mindreader."

The look of absolute despair in Loki's eyes was something she'd never seen before. Annoyance, yes. Anger, god yes. Even amusement and confusion were old hat to her and easy to work with. This, on the other hand… the sheer amount of misery in that look was enough to make something within her clench in a decidedly unprofessional way.

"Do you remember when we first started, when I let slip that I was adopted?" he asked lowly, unstyled hair falling into his eyes. He was encouraged with a nod. "I told my brother. He…he knew that I was adopted already but he didn't know—didn't know where I had come from. He didn't have a single clue as to what I was. And I told- no, _showed_ him."

Silence.

"And what happened?"

Loki gave a bitter, mirthless chuckle.

"Haven't seen him in three days. Not that I blame him; I don't want to see me either."

"Is it that horrible?"

One of Loki's hands rubbed and scratched anxiously at his arm, as if trying to remove some sort of stain or taint. He didn't reply but that was all the answer she needed. Horrible or no, it was clearly horrible to him and while she certainly couldn't get inside his brother's head, his reaction had apparently only intensified Loki's own opinions.

"Loki, I know that you have all sorts of powers and abilities that I'll never have. But you and I have something in common. Do you know what that is?"

Loki shook his head.

"No one can change _what_ they are or _what_ they're born. It's not something in your control and more than anything, it's _not your fault_. Who you are is more important. There is never anything wrong with what."

"You don't understand."

"I'd like to think I do, actually. And you know what? I like _who_ you are as well, sharp edges and spines and everything that comes with it."

Loki gave a shudder and curled in on himself. His knees came up as if to protect him.

"It's disgusting," he finally whispered, almost too quiet to hear. "I'm disgusting and _he_ thinks I'm disgusting. Why shouldn't he, either? Still, I have to admit that I'd rather…" Loki paused briefly almost as if he was lost in thought but that was wrong, wrong, wrong because he spoke as if he'd been planning those words for months, "I'd have rather been struck."

Loki could admit, now and not just under extreme duress, that he cared for Thor. Always had, always did, always would. Even at Thor's most reckless, most bullheaded; even at Loki's most indecipherable, most standoffish, most temperamental. In a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes, Loki would rather feel knuckles against his cheek or the cut of steel over that kind of rejection.

Insults were insults and injuries were injuries.

Oftentimes though, it was the insult that hurt more.

"Have you tried to talk to him about it?" Doctor Moran prodded, feeling more at ease now that Loki had finally begun to speak, "He could have just been…shocked. It's a lot to take in, finding out something like that so suddenly."

At his sides, Loki's hands clenched.

"No," he said firmly, "No. You don't get it. Thor is someone who…he follows his feelings, always. If he wants something, he chases after it. If he doesn't, he recoils. If he didn't think I was a—" _Traitor, monster, kinslayer_, "If he didn't think such things, I would know. And you don't…you don't _get it_. What I am… what I represent… it's as if you looked upon someone you loved and suddenly saw the Antichrist, to use one of your mortal symbols." Loki's stoicism was in tatters by now and he looked about half a word away from getting to his feet and beginning to pace.

Good, then.

If he needed, let him pace.

"Being so forthright, then, don't you think that if he _did_ think those things about you, that he would have _said_ them to you? Loki, even in the short time that I've known you, you've grown and changed. Is it so unthinkable that your brother might have as well? Maybe just once, you shocked him to the point that he didn't know how to react. But you won't know unless you _ask_. I know you care; people who only saw the TV broadcast know you care. There's no way that Thor doesn't know it."

Loki's face was unreadable as he mulled the words over in his head, as if he needed to not only hear them but feel them, breathe them, taste them to make them real.

Finally, he relaxed just the tiniest bit and sagged against the wall.

"I don't pretend to understand what this feels like to you," she continued, "But there are people who would help you. I only start the list." Professionalism dictated that she remain serene, sincere, and anchored even when everything that had gotten her into this career was screaming at her to _reach out, reach out, reach out_ _and touch him_ _because he's in so much pain_. He wouldn't react well to a hug or a pat on the cheek as some people would, not yet and maybe never, but just the way he was sitting demanded that she do _something_. She could speak until she was hoarse but if Loki needed physical confirmation, then words just weren't going to do it.

Smiling sadly, Doctor Moran reached across the bed and brushed fingertips over pale hands that had finally ceased their agitated twisting. She could feel him trembling under her hands.

"I know you're upset. I know you're worried. I know you're hurting. But along with those things, I know that you're _strong_, and I stick to what I said before; we'll get you feeling better. But you also need to start taking better care of yourself, too. That includes eating properly, sleeping properly, and working to sort through your feelings instead of letting them sit and fester. Talk to Thor; see if you're right or if you've simply been misunderstanding one another. I can help you but you have to help me help you, just like you were doing before. Can you?"

Loki let out an audible breath. Fingers ran over his temples in experienced circles in the manner of one accustomed to headaches and having to get rid of them on his own. After a pause, he stilled completely and cocked his head to the side, a strange little not-smile playing on his lips. It wasn't a happy expression by any means but he was no longer looking quite so much like a feral cat and for that, she considered it a success.

More than anything, Loki just wanted to bury his face in his palms and cry until he had nothing left. Normally, he'd get rid of that feeling by setting something on fire. That wasn't an option right now, not here and not like this and even if circumstances were different, Loki didn't even know if it would actually help him.

"I'll…I'll do my best."

"That's all I'll ever ask from you."

* * *

><p>"I cannot <em>believe<em> that you actually turned off the volume."

Steve didn't even dignify that with an answer as he reclined back in the chair he was sitting in. The chair he was sitting in that not only reclined, but spun and massaged all the right knots in his back. Luckily, the chair also had brakes that stopped Tony from reaching over and spinning him around without his consent.

Didn't stop him from trying anyway, but what could you do?

"And why exactly didn't we tell Thor about this?"

Steve sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Because I didn't think it would help, to be honest. It's going to be hard enough. He's going to find out eventually, probably sooner rather than later, but I'd rather it not be right this second."

Tony considered the statement before pointedly spinning around in his own chair.

"You know, we always could just turn the sound back on and say that we heard nothing. Not like anyone would even know."

"No."

"Or we could—"

"No."

"Or—"

"_No_."

"My god, how do you go through life being so boring?"

"Quite happily, actually," Steve retorted, pulling a face at his friend despite not pulling his gaze away from the screen. Tony rolled his eyes but nevertheless shook his head, leaning forward a little to watch as well.

"What do you think they're even talking about?" he asked, "Loki looks _pissed_."

"You think so?" Steve replied quietly, watching the scene playing out on the screen, "I think it looks more like…" Well, if it was anyone other than Loki, Steve might have thought that they were seconds away from crying. Even from the security cameras, it was obvious that his eyes were wide and slowly going shiny and even if it _was_ freaking Loki with his megalomania and handbasket of family grievances, no one ought to look like that.

He thought he heard the sound of a door slam open and closed but there was quiet afterwards, and Steve tuned it out to continue watching the screen.

Or he would have if the door hadn't been flung open about thirty seconds later.

Thor still had his mouth open as if he had been going to say something, but now his eyes were fixed on the screen and all was silent. Steve clenched his jaw. Tony went the full monty and began solidly smacking his forehead against the wall.

Oh great. To hell with Loki looking pissed; _Thor _looked pissed and right now, that was a little more worrisome.

"…hello."

"Who," Thor gritted out between clenched teeth after some deliberation, "Is that woman, and _why_ is my brother about to cry?"

God_damnit_.

Tony was wearing That Look, the one that said quite plainly _I am going to say something really awful that will somehow make this situation worse._ Steve preemptively dug an elbow into his side, ignoring his friend's dirty look in reply.

"Look, Thor, before you get angry and start jumping to conclusions—"

"Who. Is. She?"

"Damnit, she's his doctor! His. Doctor. As in a professional human being whose _job_ it is to pick his brain," Steve finally just threw it all to the winds and put it all out there, if only to keep Thor from wrenching the door off its hinges and doing something he'd most definitely regret. "She knows what she's doing. If she makes him cry, it's probably because he needs it." _I hope_.

The anger melted off of Thor's face the moment the word 'doctor' came flying out of Steve's mouth, replaced by an unabashed concern. Interesting that he'd still be so invested when over the last three days, he hadn't been able to so much as look at the other man.

"She's a doctor? What's wrong with him, is he sick?"

"In a way, yes," Tony interjected straightening up, waving Thor over to get him out of the doorway, "You remember way back when, when I made a joke about Loki going to get therapy? Turns out that I wasn't wrong."

"And this woman is the one who has been treating his mind?" Thor asked, his large hands twisting anxiously in front of him. It was a gesture that Loki was mirroring on the screen, and Steve couldn't help but wonder who had picked it up from whom. "What's she doing here?"

"I called her in," Steve admitted, "Her name is Doctor Moran, and I swear to everything important, she's here to help."

* * *

><p>"<em>Let's take a break."<em>

The words hadn't just been for Loki's benefit, though it was clear that he more than needed it.

Doctor Moran needed to take a breather herself, if only to cement herself back into a more professional mindset. She was expected to get attached to her patients and become invested in them while remaining above everything, but it didn't mean that it wasn't hard to take when a patient was so obviously in pain and she couldn't just do what she would do for anyone else.

Her power was in words, in control, in security and safety and in knowing that while she was there, the monsters couldn't get in.

If Loki was her sister, she would ignore the resistance and protests and inevitable annoyance and just bundle him up in a hug.

If Loki was her father, she would have shown up with an armful of old movies and some cracker jacks.

If Loki was her best friend, she would have needled him until he broke and then put him back together again properly until the cracks weren't quite so obvious and fragile.

But Loki wasn't her sister, her father, or her best friend, and those weren't her roles to slip into.

He was her patient and he trusted her –_tried_ to trust her as best he could- to do what was best for him.

It was so difficult, with him more than anyone she'd ever treated, to resist the urge to ignore all of those things and just _react_.

Doctor Moran leaned up against the wall and sighed when she exited the room, raking her hands through her hair. For a while she just breathed, letting the worry flood out of her so that it could leave patience and serenity in its place. It was patience that she needed in spades, the serenity was simply for her own peace of mind.

Out with the stress, in with the clean and the pure.

A door opened and an unfamiliar face peered out at her.

He was tall and built and so very _blonde_ and with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. He couldn't have looked less like Loki if he'd tried but something in his face, a suspicious wariness that made her feel like he was seeing everything, reminded her so strongly of him that she instantly knew who he was. No one else could make a face like that.

"You must be Thor," she greeted him, pleased with the surprise and respect that flashed across his face, "It's good to meet you at last."

He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him to approach her.

"My brother has mentioned me."

"At length," she agreed.

Thor made a face.

"Hopefully not _all_ terrible." He sounded resigned, as if there was no possible way that Loki might actually say anything nice about him. Doctor Moran resisted the urge to pull him into a hug too.

"Actually," she leaned in closer as if sharing a secret, "He cares for you very, very much."

She wouldn't tell him what to do. She wouldn't tell him what to think.

She wondered if she should have said anything at all.

But the sight of those bright blues going wide and surprised and so unashamedly pleased destroyed any potential regret she might have had. No, things weren't perfect. Nowhere even close. But Loki cared and Thor very, very obviously cared because that sort of expression couldn't be faked, and that was something to go on.

She wiggled her shoulders and to her own surprise, felt them roll without tension.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading! I read every word of feedback so please leave a review if you have anything to say to me. I appreciate concrit and praise alike so please do your worst.<p> 


	14. Flint

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Fourteen: Flint<p>

* * *

><p>Raw was the word, Loki decided later, that described best how he was feeling after Doctor Moran had left.<p>

Their conversation towards the end had lightened and softened as if she had somehow known that he wouldn't have been able to handle anything else heavy, but even that hadn't eased or soothed what he was feeling now. Loki felt as if he'd been scraped over a washboard until all of him was red and sore and tender.

Razed.

Shredded.

Like everything inside him had been burned to the surface and left to weather, defenseless and vulnerable.

Nothing looked different, nothing had changed, but somehow the room felt smaller than usual. Green eyes flickered to the cameras in the corner and Loki wondered if anyone was watching them. They were always rolling, yes, but he had the distinct impression that only Stark checked them, and likely only when he was feeling particularly suspicious.

It was the middle of the afternoon and Loki hadn't actually left his room in the daylight for about three days, but he found himself slipping out the door regardless, feeling some phantom tension inside him loosening as he did so. He fought the instinct to call upon his magic and attempt a scan to see who was where. It was tempting to try but the dampeners had the rather unpleasant side-effect of making him tired, not to mention the fact that despite everything, he still couldn't actually access it. Not worth it.

As it turned out, Steve Rogers was in the living room, sitting on the couch and munching chips out of a ceramic bowl that was perched on his lap.

Blue eyes locked on green and the other man displayed open curiosity but managed to rein it in at the last minute as he inclined his head in Loki's direction. Loki acknowledged the gesture by pulling a face at him in reply and bypassing him entirely to wander into the kitchen instead.

The kitchen at least was blessedly empty and Loki set about to making himself something to eat. He'd henpecked the last couple of days, an apple here at three in the morning or a granola bar (stupidly, _stupidly _addictive granola) at four, but now he suddenly found himself relentlessly hungry. He didn't go out of his way to be noisy but neither was he purposefully being quiet or subtle. No, he knew where Rogers was and Rogers knew full well where he was and quite likely what he was doing so Loki didn't see the point in the slightest.

Twenty minutes later, he'd found where the new hiding place for the knives was (whose brilliant plan was it to stash them in a can of peanuts? Really, they'd have such a problem if he wasn't so damned hungry right now) and fixed himself a roast beef sandwich on ciabatta with baby spinach and tomato and damn straight, he used the last of the mustard. He also may or may not have put the empty jar back in the fridge for some unsuspecting fool (Tony) to discover later and hopefully throw the granddaddy of all fits over.

Well, it might have been the granddaddy of all fits if Loki hadn't already taken that title several centuries ago, an escapade of epic proportions that involved three dwarves, Heimdall, and a river of ale.

It had been worth it.

With his sandwich in tow, Loki eyed the countertops. They were spotless and he fought the urge to dip his finger in the remnants of mustard and smear some on them, just because he could. In the end he refrained and ended up exiting the kitchen, migrating back into the living room.

Once there, he approached the couch and flopped gracelessly onto the other cushion, ignoring the surprised and probing glance he received and taking a bite out of his sandwich. With gusto.

"Uh…hello. Hungry much?"

Loki merely raised an eyebrow and waggled his fingers.

"Greetings," he muttered once he'd ceased chewing, before snaking out a hand and claiming a number of chips from the bowl in Steve's lap, "I'm stealing these."

"I'm shocked." Oh look, he did sarcasm too. How cute. Fueled by the reply, Loki tsked and tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa.

"That's so adorable. Turn the television on; we're missing _What Not To Wear._"

"…please tell me that you don't actually watch that trash."

Loki scowled.

"I happen to enjoy watching you mortals try to go through life wearing the equivalent of burlap bags before being shown the light by a woman in hooker heels and too much statement jewelry."

"Not everyone's life revolves around judging others by their looks. Where did you even learn the term 'hooker heels'?"

"I rather happen to enjoy the internet, while _you_ are friends with Tony Stark. No question as to where you learned it either. And I wanted to put apple chutney on my sandwich but we don't always get what we want, do we?"

"I'm just saying that at the very least, you could watch something useful. Like the news."

"Boring."

"Not boring!" Steve protested, protectively curling his hand around the remote when Loki fixed a threatening stare on it, "Useful! Informative! Besides," he continued, nevertheless shifting the bowl when Loki reached out for another handful, "I would think that it would be something you'd want to take advantage of when you're being all, er, villainous."

Shockingly, Loki cracked a smirk.

"That, my dear Captain, is what the newspaper is for."

"Can't you at least watch Animal Planet or something?"

"_What Not To Wear _or that awful show where people mount and stuff Fluffy post-mortem. Take your pick, sweetheart."

Steve pulled a face.

"Or we could watch the news."

"Or not."

"Or you could accept the fact that right now, I have the remote and can watch whatever I please."

"I'll make a deal with you. Thirty minutes of CSPAN, but every single one of those minutes will be filled with my running commentary on whether or not they're actually wearing pants underneath the table and the potential in percentages for brightly colored banana hammocks."

Wordlessly, Steve picked up the remote and flipped it on, immediately changing the channel to the Style network. Insufferably smug, Loki stretched out next to him as if there had never been any other option.

"I swear to everything that is holy, _one_ episode of this. One. Just one. Then we're watching something I choose."

"Whatever," Loki shot back, already staring derisively at the screen so that he wouldn't stare derisively at Steve instead, "Haters gonna hate." Steve snorted under his breath and resolved to despise every second of this show, along with accepting the surrealism of sitting on a couch with Loki and watching trashy daytime television. Loki, on the other hand, couldn't help but wonder why he was even here. He could have eaten anywhere, chosen a different room, a different place to _sit_, even. Instead he'd chosen this, this whatever it was that he was doing that almost looked like an attempt to be social.

Stupid.

Shifting slightly where he sat, Steve cast Loki some side-eye. It was studiously ignored.

"I hope you know…" he started seriously, and Loki gave a wary twitch, "I did put the cameras on mute. I promise, they'll stay that way."

_That_ warranted a reaction, a startled, wide-eyed look that was entirely unlike any of their previous interactions.

Loki didn't speak, however, and eventually Steve just turned back to the television, certain that the subject had been dropped.

Three minutes of silence later, though,

"…thank you."

For a moment, Loki was sure that Steve was going to say something else, likely fluffy and insipid and reeking of sympathy and _understanding_ that he didn't want. The moment that he changed his mind was visual and the sides of his lips tilted upwards.

"You know, I may be out of date, but even I know that those colors don't go together."

"Right?" Loki replied, for once not sounding snide and with a look resembling genuine interest flitting over his face, "What I'd like to know is why everyone always seems so surprised and shocked that all their clothes are being taken away like they have no idea what actually happens on this show. Hello, Wikipedia?"

They went silent.

"This is weird as hell," Steve finally offered. Next to him, Loki snorted.

"No kidding. Want to put money on this broad getting forced into Louboutins?"

"What in God's name is a Louboutin?"

"Oh, this is going to be _fun_."

* * *

><p>"I swear to god, if you tell me who wins, I will throw you out this window."<p>

"I'd like to see you try, Kewpie. Especially since I believe that I've thrown you out of more than a few myself."

"You got lucky."

"And you liked the Kit Kat dress. Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"I am never drinking again because these are some scary goddamn hallucinations," Tony deadpanned several hours later when he walked into the living room because Steve was sitting on the couch with _Loki_, and the two of them were debating the merits of various designers on _Project Runway_.

Vehemently.

Loki? Not so much a surprise, other than the fact that he'd decided to make an appearance at all and had apparently decided to make Steve his victim for the day/hour/minute/forever until he got bored with the whole thing. Aside from being a tad unhinged, though, the guy dressed like he did everything else: with flair, and the last thing that anyone would call anything that he did was boring.

No, the fact that Tony had walked into the room right as Steve flicked a potato chip in the dark-haired man's direction and was loudly protesting to the imminent threat of spoilers was the weird part. Actually, not just the weird part. More like the _most goddamn surreal thing that Tony's ever seen in his life_ part.

Steve, wholesome, clean-cut, blonde and babyfaced Steve Rogers was engaging in a pissing match with Loki over designers in a reality television show. A reality television show about fashion. The guy didn't even protest to wearing a giant white star on his chest, for god's sake.

On second thought, Tony wasn't anywhere near drunk enough for this.

Maybe that would make life make sense.

"I knew you were an idiot, Rogers, but Sweet P? Seriously? She can't even pick out her own clothes, much less make them for others."

"Ugh, you are such a jerk."

"And we're surprised by this?"

"I said I didn't want spoilers!"

"They're not spoilers if they're _common sense."_

"I cannot handle this," Tony just muttered to himself, rubbing at his temples when he was finally noticed. Steve had the grace to look embarrassed; Loki on the other hand was visibly startled out of his bantering and slipped into silence again. Awkwardly, he fidgeted with the plate he still held in his lap, empty but for a few stray bread crumbs. "Everyone knows that Rami's got this challenge in the bag."

The silence was heavy and how on Earth did Loki and Steve manage to pull the exact same judging face at him?

"Pepper likes this show!" Tony protested, "And talks about it! All the time!"

Steve bit his lip in an obvious attempt to keep the smirk off his face. It didn't work very well.

"Yes. I believe you."

"Seriously! If you don't quit ripping on me, I _will_ spoil you because I know who wins too. Cap, that face you're making is _really_ unattractive; not gettin' any ladies looking like that. You either, grouchy." With that, Tony approached the couch and flopped down at Loki's other side, shoving the other man over until he was practically plastered into Steve's side.

"Could you not?" Steve sputtered, color rising in his cheeks. Next to him, Loki attempted to extract himself and failed miserably, mostly due to the fact that there were now three people squished onto two couch cushions and Tony had decided to make it all as difficult as possible by taking shameless advantage of the fact that Loki was currently unarmed save for a plate.

"Seconded," Loki grumbled. There were no good options here. Shift one way and continue indulging in too much togetherness with Steve; shift the other and be way closer to Tony than he ever wanted to be. Ever. "There are three more chairs and one couch in this room, go sit on one of those. Your ass has no power here."

"My ass has power everywhere," Tony countered, "My house, my rules."

Green eyes flashed and Loki made to get to his feet.

"Clearly. I've seen this episode anyway, no need for me to sit here and be accosted the whole time." By this point, Loki had every intention of getting to his feet, dropping his plate in some terribly inconvenient place (like Tony's toilet bowl), and holing up in his room again. Anything was better than to let himself continue to be teased.

Loki stood and then froze because Tony had a weird, _weird_ and almost regretful look on his face. Steve on the other hand had reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Loki fought the whipcrack quick urge to yank away from him, but that would be losing control and he'd done far too much of that today. He breathed deeply.

"Rogers, if you know what's good for you, you'll let go of me," Loki's voice was steady and far too calm.

"You were here first;" the man insisted, pushing Tony half off the couch, "Sit back down. …please."

"I'm not moving."

"Get in a chair, Tony."

"My house."

"What part of 'I'm leaving' don't you morons understand?"

"_Sit_," Steve demanded and yanked. _Audacious_, Loki thought a half second before his hind end met the cushion again. Any other time, and someone would have died before getting away with that. As it was, he ended up falling back against the back of the couch, scowling sourly at the lot of them. Tony ignored his irritation and merely adjusted the volume on the television to a low roar.

Loki shifted uncomfortably in his attempts to leave a distance of at least six inches between himself and either of the barbarians but it was nigh impossible in the end, mostly because Tony was the definition of a lummox and was determined to finish off the last of the chips at any cost. That cost happened to entail getting his hand smacked when it drifted over Loki's chest and towards the bowl too many times.

Apparently, it was worth it.

Loki tried to focus on the screen but he found himself unfocused and distracted, fixated instead on the heat that he could feel at either side of him. For a good while he simply sat silently, practically vibrating in irritated, nervous tension and seething.

"…would you calm down?" Tony approached, leaning away though he didn't actually move, "No one's going to do anything to you. We're just sitting here watching TV, nothing to get so worked up over."

"It's _crowded_," Loki grit out. Even the words came out grudgingly. Tony shrugged.

"Yeah, so? We fit three people on this couch all the time and we're all tiny compared to when Thor decides to lay claim to the middle."

The mental image of Thor, broad and hulking, trying to squeeze himself in between _anyone_ on this seats-one-two-tops sofa was ridiculous and absurd and Loki couldn't hold back the derisive snort that tore from his throat before he could think. Sadly, it was an easy enough thing to picture. Loki had been tiny and skinny up until he'd appeared to be begin to lengthen overnight without ever really putting on bulk; Thor on the other hand had been tall and gangly and more knees and elbows than anything else up until he looked down one day and realized that hey, he had pecs and that was _awesome_ and women loved them.

So yes, Loki could picture it.

Nothing more was said on the subject. Tony made insensitive comments and Steve may or may not have thrown a few more chips and Loki just sat and glared because there was not a single circumstance in any of the nine realms in which he appreciated being manhandled in any regard.

Until something miraculous happened.

It was silent, it was small, and it was almost undetectable.

Halfway through the following episode, Loki began to relax. It was a subconscious thing and something that was so close to imperceptible that Steve wouldn't ever have noticed if not for the fact that he had never actually let go of the other man's wrist. His pulse steadied and slowed and his hand slackened to the point that it dropped to rest lightly against Steve's thigh. Long fingers that did and could so easily hold destruction both curled at the fabric as if of their own accord to seek touch and warmth.

If it were anyone else, Steve might have done something or called attention to it, maybe even indulged in some friendly ribbing. But green eyes were fixated on the television screen and Steve found himself noticing more and more the dark circles that ringed them, smudged shadows that couldn't come from anywhere but unrest and a mind that was rarely at ease.

Tony continued to make his insensitive comments and Steve kept throwing chips and Loki still glared a little bit but there was a strange and foreign quiet to it as if some metaphorical volume dial had been turned to low.

When the front door opened and Loki got up to retreat back to his room, pulling his hand free in the process, Steve didn't stop him.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading! I hope you're all still enjoying this. If you have anything at all to say, please leave me a review. They really keep me motivated to write and to keep posting at a good clip. (Besides, it was my birthday today! How about some birthday reviews? I kid. Mostly.)<p> 


	15. Emery

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends_.

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Fifteen: Emery<p>

* * *

><p>Loki tries to sleep. The dreams still come as steadily as they always have, filling Loki like a glass about to overflow until he wakes up breathing hard, cold and pathetically frightened. The room's still small and still dark and still empty and the blanket's still thick and warm but Loki's still so cold.<p>

When he touches his face, his fingertips come away wet and he scrubs hard enough to rub his skin raw until it's painful but dry.

Everything is silent. Loki doesn't know how they all manage to sleep with him there, as if he hasn't spent so long trying to erase them all.

Is it because they trust the technology that keeps track of his every move? Or is it because Stark trusts it and they all trust him in turn? Loki doesn't know.

A cell would be better, he thinks. He knows what that entails. The cold would be a given, terrible food and silence save for the rats. Loki would rot, he knows, until he's little more than bones reinforced with anger and resentment and pain that can only lash out because there's not enough of him to take it. Thor would visit, Loki knows, and that makes it so much worse. Even the idea hurts.

He can picture it so easily, hear the sadness and guilt and _why why why_ and it sends a wave of rage straight through to his blood because he doesn't even know what he wants anymore but he knows that that isn't it. He thought, briefly and foolishly, that he wanted the throne but that was wrong, always wrong because that was only a means, not an end. He thought that he wanted Laufey's head on a pike. He got his wish and despite everything he can't regret it, but that wasn't what he wanted, not really.

The loathing's not gone.

Loki might want to stop hating if not for the fact that it makes him feel so _strong_.

Right now, he feels the opposite of strong, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm in a dark, empty room.

Loki's never been locked in, not since he's woken up, and he wonders why because he knows better than any of them just how dangerous he is. It's not that they trust him, he knows. Right now, they see him as something close to harmless, without his magic and his strength. They think that he traded in everything they hated in him when he dropped to his knees and gave everything he had to keep Thor alive.

Loki knows that they couldn't be more wrong because he's never left anything behind.

He's cold.

Loki drags in a shuddering breath that refuses to even out and tugs his blanket over his shoulders.

He doesn't like the silence. The emptiness reminds him of the void. It's not so much an absence of everything but a presence of nothing; no sound and no light and no being. He's shivering.

Before he takes into consideration just what he's doing, Loki slides off the bed. Bare feet hit the floor with a thud and he drags the blanket with him, out the door and into the living room. It's empty too, of course, but there are more windows. Slivers of moonlight cut in through the blinds and Loki opens them further.

It's a different night and a different skyscape but Loki feels better now that he can see it, just a little bit.

He ends up sitting down on the couch, sinking into the pillows and cushions. Green eyes shutter and droop and Loki scrapes a hand through his hair, dark and disheveled and totally sticking up in the back.

Eventually, he lets himself sag, first against the arm and then all the way down to nestle against a pillow. Loki buries his nose in the fabric and it smells clean. If he focuses hard enough, he can pick out Thor's scent among all the irrelevant ones, warm and familiar and steady. He breathes in deeply and lets his brain empty out until all that's left is Loki, curling up where he sits and already half-asleep again.

He'll wake up again in a few hours, definitely. Long enough to get some rest and leave again before anyone wakes up, certainly.

Long hands tug the blanket up past his chin and over his head.

Then there's only warmth, darkness, and the muted sounds of the night filtering in from the outside, and Loki's asleep again.

* * *

><p>When Loki woke up, it was to sun on his face and fingers in his hair. The sun wasn't a surprise but the fingers were, scratching pleasantly along his scalp and using just enough nail to be comfortable.<p>

He was almost instantly awake and his eyes snapped open, brief curtain of sleepiness swept away by vigilance. He looked up and met an all too familiar face, blue eyes, and rumpled blonde hair that hadn't been brushed yet.

Thor was sitting on the arm of the couch because Loki was taking up the rest of it, arm outstretched and running a hand over Loki's head like he always had, as if nothing had changed, as if they were still on Asgard and it wasn't a training day and Thor wasn't off on adventures and Loki wasn't reading or plotting or off adventuring himself.

"…good morning, my brother."

Loki scrambled backwards and fell off of the couch.

He hit the floor with profanity.

"Holy god_damn—_don't _do_ that!" he snapped, "You can't just _loom_ over someone like that! I might have stabbed you."

"You didn't."

But I might have. That's the point."

"Didn't you used to sleep with blades?"

"_Exactly._"

"But you still didn't."

Of course this was the first conversation they'd have. Of course. Of fucking course.

"That was different," Loki answered immediately, picking himself off the floor with as much dignity he could muster.

It had been a different time, when he didn't subconsciously flinch at the color blue in fear that someone might just _know_ and when he didn't react to an affront with extreme prejudice. It felt like such a long time ago.

"Why were you sleeping out here?"

"Why aren't you _still_ sleeping?" Loki asked pointedly in the general area of Thor's hair, that while normally was meticulously cared for was currently rumpled and falling into his face and just generally proving that no, Thor wasn't exactly up of his own volition. "Unless you've taken to rising regularly some time before mid-noon. In that case, please direct me to whom I may congratulate for the change." At least he had the grace to look sheepish.

He also may or may not have grumbled under his breath a name that sounded suspiciously like Rogersson.

Silence fell between them like a glass curtain.

Thor might have smashed it had he had the conviction; Loki might have bypassed it had he possessed the nerve.

Neither of them did.

Instead, Loki did something unbelievably stupid and let his body react before his brain.

Without even thinking about it, he made a genuine attempt to teleport, forgetting until just a second too late just why he hadn't tested the dampeners just yet. His magic fought to obey him, hit the dampeners, and his body _screamed_ because a wave of agony shot straight through to his bones. The tiniest tendrils of green smoke appeared in the air but other than that, nothing, nothing, _nothing_, just pain. Loki curled in on himself and dug his teeth into his lip until it bled, his fingernails leaving marks on his arms that would bruise later.

By Valhalla it _hurt_, a burn that didn't focus on a single area that he could compartmentalize and deal with but one that spread like wildfire in summer.

Huge hands landed on his shoulders and Loki realized with a jolt that Thor had scrambled off the couch to kneel beside him. His lips were moving but all Loki could hear was the roaring in his ears and he jerked away from the touch to brace himself against the side of the couch.

It couldn't have been very long before the pain began to subside, thirty seconds at the most, but it felt like eternity.

Loki focused on breathing and reading Thor's lips.

_Loki, Loki, are you alright? Speak to me, tell me what's wrong! Loki, Loki, Loki_.

Too much.

Loki lurched to his feet and bolted for the stairs.

The footsteps that followed him stopped the moment Loki flung the door shut behind him. There had once been a time when Thor would have followed him without hesitation or regard for the possible consequences of such things but not now. Walking into a room only to be smacked in the face with a vase or a book or the closest, heaviest thing Loki could reach had made him wary and rightly so. Loki fell back against the door and sank to the floor, still trembling from the aftershocks of pain.

_Loki, please, open the door. Are you injured?_ _Answer me!_

The door remained shut.

There was the sound of a forehead hitting wood.

_I don't know how to help you._

Then there was silence because there was a lump in Loki's throat that he couldn't dislodge and something in Thor couldn't make him force the door open. Another thud.

"I am sick to _death_," Loki was finally able to force out, "Of being here. I am sick to _death_ of not knowing what kind of prisoner I am and what kind of jailer I have and I am _sick to fucking death_ of everyone treating me like their thrice-damned project." Crass, but effective. Loki was born to twist and weave words but he was twisting nothing now so much as he was spitting, adopting the Midgardian swears as he pleased. His voice grew stronger with every word and the residual pain only made him stronger. "I'm sick to death of not having any of my things, I'm sick to death of not having my magic, and I'm sick to death of knowing that all my plants are dead and of having nothing to do, and more than anything, I'm sick of not being able to do _anything_ without falling over half dead. Have I missed anything? Oh, wait, what am I even _doing_ here?"

Loki and Thor hadn't spent most of their lives together for nothing. Loki didn't have to see him to be able to picture his face, probably wearing that hurt, hangdog expression. Any second now he'd forcibly swallow and clench his hands at his sides because that was always what he did when he didn't know what to do.

Loki didn't wait for him to say anything.

"What am I going to have to _do_ for you to do it? Blow up a few more buildings? Maybe kill Rogers or Stark or that woman you're so fond of? This…this whole pretending that I'm free to do as I want, why are you bothering? Just take me back to Asgard and be done with it; they're good at dealing with me, right? Though perhaps if you're attempting the torture route, you might want to carry on as you've been."

When Thor finally spoke, his voice was muffled through the door but unmistakably sad.

"Why must you say such things? No one is trying to _torture_ you. You _saved_ me and this was supposed to be a safe place for you to recover because I couldn't bear to see you imprisoned. I just want you to be happy. Somehow, because I stopped paying attention for so long and then when I looked up, I didn't know what happened to my joyous little brother."

"I haven't been joyous for a long time."

"Please, tell me how I can make you happy. I don't know what I can do for you."

Loki didn't know how to tell him that he didn't know if he even knew how to be happy anymore.

"Your mind and feelings have been a mystery to me for so long," Thor continued without preamble, "It's been so long that I don't even know how it happened or how I could let this happen. I just want to understand, Loki, even if it's hard."

There were a lot of things that Loki wanted to say. _Selfish_, he wanted to snarl. He wanted to snap back at him with something sharp and painful, with perfectly calculated words meant to tear and shred and maim. He remembered the weight of Gungnir in his hands, of looking on Odin's slumbering form and _I don't want this, I don't want this, I don't want this_. He didn't have to remember the constant and unwavering revulsion because it hadn't left him. He felt it now, the dark and menacing specter that haunted his dreams, his waking hours, and his nightmares; the only thing that could truly terrify a trickster.

Loki could make Thor do about anything right now. He knew that tone, the one that screamed remorse and guilt and _shame_ and he knew what it meant and not for the first time, Loki wanted to lash out and punch it right out of him.

Silence, and Loki breathed.

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me anything."

"…give me two days, then we'll talk. Try to talk." Loki dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temples. He ached all over and all he really, really wanted to do was crawl back into bed. Instead, he reached out to pat his hip, feeling the corners and edges of his phone on his fingertips.

If he was going to sit and brood, he was at least going to play some Angry Birds.

"Can…is there anything you want?"

Loki stifled a snort.

Only Thor would ask his notoriously destructive, half-mad little brother if there was anything he wanted with the full intention of giving it to him. He wasn't sure whether it was good-heartedness or simply folly. Loki could ask for anything. Instead, he surprised himself.

Loki reached out and ripped a piece of paper off of the pad in the bedside drawer, scribbling an address onto it with a ballpoint. Pushing his phone aside, he pulled something out of his pocket and pushed both things underneath the door.

"That is the address to my apartment in New York and that's the key to get in. I need clothing; this three-day t-shirt and blue jean rotation is doing nothing for me and none of these garments fit properly." Indeed, the borrowed wardrobe (if it could be called that) did about the opposite of fit, hanging off of his shoulders while being short everywhere else, clearly meant for a slightly shorter but bulkier frame but leaving Loki looking awkward and even lankier than he already was. "And everything in my bathroom that you don't know what it does." He didn't mention the books he'd accumulated to the point that they just barely fit on the shelves or the iPod that he kept in the drawer of his bedside table or his poor, poor ficus that was probably so crunchy from lack of care that he almost wanted to give it a proper funeral at this point.

There was a rustling from the other side as Thor picked up the key and paper and looked it over, clearly considering. Finally,

"Anything else?"

Loki thought.

"…no," he replied after a moment of deliberation, "No. That's…that's enough."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you guys so much for all the feedback on the last chapter! It makes me super happy to know that not only are people reading it, but that you're enjoying it as much as you are. I'm having about as much fun writing this and I had a wonderful birthday. As always, if you have anything at all to say (good or bad), please let me know in a review. I'd love to hear your comments and opinions.<p> 


	16. Kaolinite

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Sixteen: Kaolinite<p>

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><p>"Hello, Loki."<p>

"I have no intention of speaking with you today," Loki said levelly from where he sat on the bed. He wasn't even facing her, choosing instead to watch the wall. He didn't have to look at Doctor Moran to know that her arms were crossed over her chest and she was giving him That Look.

"That's a shame, isn't it? I know how much you love sitting in silence while being stared at."

"Insufferable woman."

"Insufferable patient."

Loki let out a very, very put-upon sigh and kept right on watching the wall.

"Can we just…not, today? I'm really not feeling the mind probe today."

The doctor furrowed her brows and removed her glasses, absently turning them over in her hands as she cleaned them in her lap.

"Care to tell me what happened to get put you in this funk? It's pretty impressive."

"Trust me, it'd be even more impressive if I had my magic."

"Somehow, I feel that if you had your magic, you wouldn't quite be in such a funk. You might also look at me when you speak," Doctor Moran chided him. Loki turned to meet her eyes just long enough to shoot her a dirty look before he turned away again.

Despite his words, it was obvious that he wasn't focused on her, fixated instead on something he was keeping to himself.

"Last I checked, you were not any of my etiquette instructors."

"Don't be rude."

Normally, Loki carried himself with the height of decorum, his back ramrod straight and hands folded neatly in his lap when they weren't gesticulating. At her chiding, however, Loki pulled another face and seemed to flop over, facing away from her and curling up on the blankets. That was new and something she knew meant nothing good.

"Just…go. Please. I don't want to talk today." His voice was muffled in the fabric of his pillowcase.

Doctor Moran scooted her chair closer to a distance that Loki would have normally protested to. He didn't reject it now.

"Talk to me and we'll make it an easy session."

"That is a dirty lie and you know it."

"How do you figure?"

"You only offer to make things easy when you want me to talk about the hard stuff."

Touché. One didn't get to be known as the god of trickery for nothing, apparently.

"Just ramble at me, then," Doctor Moran bargained, "It doesn't even have to be for the whole session. If you're talking, it's progress."

Loki cocked his head and fixed a single green eye on her, his expression unreadable. Finally,

"How can you tell that there's progressing? I don't even know where I'm _going_."

It took everything she had to not smile, to not just beam at him or gently tease him and tell him that if he was thinking like that, then it was obvious. It wasn't though, not to Loki who was still watching her with that wary and entirely uncertain look on his face. He wouldn't appreciate her laughter right now any more than he'd appreciate a slap in the face.

"You want to know how I know that you're progressing? When you first started coming to see me, if you didn't like something or didn't want to talk, you'd shut down. You wouldn't even snap at me, wouldn't tell me to shut up or mind my own business. You'd just sit there and glare silently at me for the rest of the session, or you'd just walk out. That's happened more than once, if you'll recall."

Loki clearly did recall, evidenced by the fact that he'd mysteriously gained two spots of pink set high along his cheekbones.

"But now? Even if you're unhappy, you _say_ it."

"Somehow, I think the 'use your words' lesson is one meant to be taught in childhood. I suppose it didn't quite stick with me."

"Yes, well. We can't all be so lucky as to reach adulthood by twenty, can we?"

"I sincerely hope you're not implying that I'm a child, as last I checked I have over two thousand years on you at the very least and that's if I'm being generous."

"Yes, and last I checked, you mentioned that you only had your coming of age ceremony one hundred and fifty years ago. There's still time for that lesson, whippersnapper."

Loki was glaring at her again but it was a softer look on him, not so much outwardly antagonistic but merely irritated. A vast improvement to hopelessness. Doctor Moran just smiled acceptingly at him in response, waiting for some of the tension to go out of his shoulders.

Finally, Loki uncurled and let out a quiet whuff of acquiescence. He didn't sit up but he did open his other eye so that he was at least looking her in the face. Also an improvement.

"…I talked to Thor today," he eventually admitted as if it was something to be ashamed of, "Kind of."

"You either did or you didn't. That's like being kind of pregnant."

_Well._ Loki had a few things he could say about _that_ bit of subject matter but he ignored the urge to enlighten, eventually just chewing on his lip in the very picture of discomfort.

"Fine, we talked. I still say kind of, but we did speak. More than we have ever since he," deceptively steady breath stuttered, "Found out about me."

"And what did you say?"

Loki wondered how his doctor would react if he told her that in all actuality, Thor had petted him like he was a stray cat and Loki had played the part by idiotically trying to make a run for it and getting himself into a world of hurt for the trouble. He bypassed those little details in the end and forced out what he thought was most important.

"He asked me what he could do. To make me happy, I mean. Gods, he's an idiot, how can he expect me to answer that when I don't even—ugh," Loki bemoaned, hiding his face in his pillowcase, "I must be crazier than I thought I was. I gave him the key to my damned apartment, gave him _permission to break into my house_, and told him to bring me my things. And then whatever tatters of sanity I had left decided to fly the coop when I told him that we could _talk_ later. Like it even matters! What is _wrong_ with me?" Loki's lamenting face went unreadable again when he caught sight of the look that Doctor Moran was wearing. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Loki, I never want to hear you doubt your progress ever, ever again," she said seriously, propping her glasses back onto her nose, "What you did today? That is exactly what I've been hoping for from you: rationality, willingness to listen, willingness to _give_. You were able to do what you were afraid of, and I am so, so proud of you. These sessions aren't meant to change who you are, they're meant to change how you handle problems and how you handle yourself and today? You did everything right."

Loki had been around the block more than once; there was little he hadn't seen, few worldly things that could really and truly shock him, and for the love of all that was precious, _he did not blush_. Unfortunately, his body didn't quite agree with him as the light color he'd gained only intensified to what was unmistakably a flush of…well, he didn't quite know.

Embarrassment? Maybe a little. Pride, an embarrassingly large amount. And to top it all off, a shockingly intense wave of what could only be relief. Relief at what he didn't quite know but suspected that it tied in tightly to that feeling of pride and shock that someone was actually proud of him. Loki hadn't killed anyone or taken anything over or turned the entirety of Midgard into marshmallow. All he'd done was give Thor his key and make a demand.

Something tightened in his throat and Loki tried to clear it. Instead of coming out as a cough it sounded much more like a sob. A threatening heat was building up behind his eyes and Loki blinked rapidly. It didn't dissipate, nor did the feeling of tightness go away. When he opened his eyes again, moisture was beading his lashes and Loki forced every bit of hitch out of his breath, even as his shoulders began to tremble and his eyes began to go red-rimmed with tears.

He was not going to cry.

He was not going to cry.

He was absolutely, absolutely not going to cry.

Except that he was at least a little bit. And when _you're okay, you're okay, this is just fine_ came down around his ears, he wrapped them around him like a shield and let them stay with him until he couldn't hear anything else.

* * *

><p>Thor didn't know what to expect from Loki's apartment.<p>

He hadn't been permitted inside Loki's bedroom is Asgard for years, ever since he opened the door and proceeded to completely ruin an experiment that not only had been in the delicate stages for months but left his brother hoarse from screaming at him and bad-tempered for weeks. If that wasn't enough to deter him, then Thor wasn't sure whether he was actually intelligent enough to live anymore.

He was perfectly capable of finding an address though, even though he wasn't as familiar with New York as he'd like to be.

It still didn't give him any more ideas on just what to expect from Loki's living situation, though. Tony seemed to be under the impression that Loki lived in a cave; Thor didn't bother to tell him that even if that as the case, a cave would be far too dark and dreary and the humidity would make his hair curl. The first two were workable; Loki might tolerate those under duress. The last?

Not a chance.

Steve had initially been concerned, in a misguided and entirely endearing way because he'd apparently seen his fair share of New York apartments and had also apparently jumped to some rather awful conclusions about the kind of place that Loki would keep. He'd basically looked horrified, muttering under his breath about cockroaches and mysterious fluids that oozed down the walls from nowhere and gunshots from upstairs.

The key was heavy in Thor's hand, heavier than it should have been for being so small.

Spirits, Loki's _name_ was actually on the little mailbox next to the front door. No alias, just _Loki Odinsson_ neatly printed out and slipped behind plastic as if it belonged there. And didn't it?, Thor wondered. Aside from the fact that he was kind of known as a nefarious supervillain, didn't he have the right to do it? And really, what sane not-suicidal human being was going to tell him no when Loki asked?

There was little resistance in the lock. Thor opened the door and tried not to look too curious. The moment he stepped inside, he felt the tingle of a spell wash over him, testing and feeling but doing no harm as if to check and make sure that he wasn't an intruder. An unsurprising thing to find in the dwelling of a paranoid sorcerer.

The entryway was bright and inviting when he flicked on the lights and tastefully decorated. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found, likely due to another residual household spell.

_Loki lives here_, Thor thought to himself, closing and locking the door behind him with a faint click. It was startling to think because it was obvious that this wasn't just where Loki slept or stayed or simply resided but where he _lived_.

Little touches were everywhere; decorative pillows bundled up on just one side of the couch with the remote control in easy reach, little knick knacks littering the few shelves that weren't about to collapse from books (that was something that would _never_ change), what had undoubtedly been a lovely flower arrangement in an glazed dish with pebbles several weeks ago that was now wilting and beginning to droop. Thor felt a twinge of remorse; it was beautiful even now and he wondered how it had looked when cared for, with its curving cherry branches and elegantly fastened stalks of blossoms still sweetly pink. That sort of thing was an aesthetic that Thor had always admired in his brother and one that he could never emulate, trading in a sensibility when it came to beauty for brute strength.

Neither was better or more valid and Thor could appreciate only now that which he did not possess.

He was unable to resist the urge to reach out and touch the blooms with roughened, calloused fingertips. They were still soft in that way that plants get before they're dried and unexposed to the elements. Hadn't Loki said something about being upset about his plants? Now that Thor had the chance to look around, he could see that there were arrangements in every room, different and distinct but still looking so much like Loki.

Had he made them? Loki had always been more the type to make something himself than he was to buy it if he could, mostly out of a suspicion and wariness towards others as well as the opinion that whatever it was, he could likely do it better. Thor didn't usually see the point; why go through the trouble yourself if someone else could and would? Still, looking at these things, he could see the point.

They were beautiful and could have only come from Loki.

Maybe Thor would bring him some plants. Where could you get plants? Would he need to get a bowl too? How did the flowers even stay upright in those things?

That, he decided, was something for another day, something he'd ask and do right instead of guessing.

Thor made a chuffing noise through his teeth when he walked into what was unmistakably Loki's bedroom. It was obvious because it had more books than even the living room, stacked up next to the bed and next to the bathtub and even in a basket next to the toilet from what Thor could see through the open bathroom door.

Tony had books too, piles and stacks and mountains of books that made Pepper groan with long-suffering tolerance and that tripped Steve up every other morning because he left them on the stairs. Loki had done that too, skipping over them easily while Thor and the servants and basically everyone else other than their parents had stubbed shins and toes. Thor didn't know where to start with those but he grabbed a few of the ones that appeared to get the most use (a compendium of stories about a man named Sherlock Holmes, a massive, dusty tome full of very small text on various spells, and a novel about something called a phantom tollbooth to start) and piled them up near the front door to take with him.

The closet was more than intimidating.

Why couldn't Thor have gotten a brother who was a little less vain and a little more drunk? Mead took up infinitely less space than Loki's wardrobe.

Eventually though, clothes joined the book pile by the door. Thor cast an exasperated look over the lot when he set down his armful of bottles from the bathroom. Seriously, mead was much more productive.

But if Thor hadn't gotten Loki for a brother, he'd have someone else or no brother at all and where would Loki be, left to work his life out on his own in Jotunheim, left to die? Suddenly, the pile by the door didn't look heavy at all and Thor would carry it as many times as he had to if only because that future had been avoided and even if it left a less than perfect one in its wake.

Blue eyes glanced about the room.

Still, the future turned into the past. The future could be changed.

The glitter of glass caught his eye from the other side of the room and Thor found himself picking up a little glass bottle identical to the one they'd initially found on Loki while he was still unconscious that smelled strongly of flowers.

Curious, Thor uncorked it and breathed in the scent. Still flowers but different, spicier this time but just as heady. Without thinking about it too hard, he popped it into his pocket and the mighty Thor, the wielder of Mjolnir, was surprised at how heavy it felt.

* * *

><p>These videos were always so depressing, Steve couldn't help but think. Even with the volume turned off and with Steve trying hard to basically pay as little attention as possible while still being in the same room, it was all so <em>obvious<em>.

He really did try not to watch.

It seemed like such a private thing, even for someone who had no reason to like or trust Loki in the slightest, and there was a reason why the surveillance had been left to them and why Tony took frequent 'bathroom' breaks. Tony had initially been looking forward to it, possibly out of some vindictive payback for being blown through so many buildings and being coated in marshmallow more than once, but that had seemed to fade once they realized just how sad it was.

Loki knew they were there. He had to, there were no two ways about it, though he hadn't complained about it. Whether it was out of some kind of denial or otherwise, Steve didn't know.

It was still hard, though, to see the guy look so obviously like he needed to break down and cry.

It made Steve want to sit down with Thor and talk to him because it was also so obvious that the whole thing was halfway destroying him. Whatever the _thing_ between the two of them was, it was enough to make Thor uncomfortable and upset and probably a little angry because he did the same frustrated stalking thing that Bruce did when he started hitting his limit.

God, at this rate maybe they should all do some talking.

Steve wasn't a fan of self-medicating but for the first time he might understand a little about why Tony indulged so much because yeah, it made him sloppy and handsy and annoying but it also made him free. Escapist and cowardly and unhealthy though it was, it brought him some kind of peace yet in the end. Steve was glad though, because he hadn't seen Tony anywhere near his worst if Pepper could be believed, not so much from what she said but by the way she looked when she talked about it, sad and a little bit haunted.

The doctor was getting to her feet and looking like she was preparing to leave; Steve noticed and straightened up in his seat. He looked forward to her leaving, not because she was in any way unpleasant but because it meant that he could stop watching and feeling like he was intruding, unwilling though it was.

Loki didn't really look at her when she left but he did raise a hand in a wave, eventually giving what must have been a goodbye when she cut him a chiding glance that Steve knew from experience meant _don't be rude_. He wondered if all therapists were like this because it seemed like she was constantly walking a line between doctor and friend, comrade and authority. Sometimes, like now, she almost seemed parental towards him and weirder still, Loki _allowed_ it. If mythology was to be trusted, both Thor and Loki had at least a thousand years under their belts by the time the good doctor had been set in the cradle.

That was her job, he figured after some debate, to rip him open and tear out the shields and fix whatever it was that made him act the way he did. To rebalance him and steady the pendulum that governed his emotions.

Steve couldn't help but wonder what he was hiding, once you took away the rage and pain and bitterness. Before all this, it had been so easy to assume that Loki was just a giant ball of crazy and leave it at that. It was so, so easy. The Avengers were the good guys, Loki was one of the bad guys. That was just how it worked and it was so easy to keep it like that because it wasn't like Loki was reforming anytime soon, but everything had been turned upside down.

It had seemed so sudden but had it been, really?

In all actuality, it had been very slow.

A little less destruction here, a little less bloodshed there. And then he'd started going weeks between appearances, and then That had happened.

That had been the first time that Steve had seen anything so raw on anyone, much less a supervillain. He'd bled and cried and snarled over the prone body of the brother he'd sworn to destroy, that he refused to claim as his, and that was what had stuck with Steve more than anything else more than the anger even.

Steve was ashamed to think of it now, but he'd been already thinking of Thor's funeral when it all happened. It was the logical response because who could survive something like that, even someone with the powers of a god? He liked to consider himelf a realist and it was what made him get along with Tony more than he wanted to think about sometimes. Thor could be defined as the unmovable object, who would stick by something until the very end. Loki, on the other end, seemed to embody the unstoppable force incapable of remaining still. Trapped in a box, Thor would beat on it until it gave in (however long it too, something would eventually break). Steve would wait and bide his time because someone would have to come eventually and he could and _would_ be ready when they did. Loki would find a way out without breaking a thing and would probably leave behind some infuriating little parting gift.

Unstickable slime web? He'd burn his way out without a hair out of place.

Brother on the verge of death? He'd shove every scrap of his magic into him and make it work from sheer bullheadedness.

It wasn't the belief in the possible that set them apart but the disbelief in the impossible.

It was the desire to stop thinking that made Steve greet the doctor outside the room and enter where she'd just exited, relishing the genuinely confused green stare he got at his presence.

"I looked at the TV guide," he began, "There's another marathon of _Project Runway _on right now if you were interested."

"Psh, as if I needed you to tell me what the programming schedule was. You probably have trouble figuring out how to send a text message."

If Loki's voice was tight and rough and a little bit choked and a little too _grateful _for the distraction, Steve didn't say anything about it. The fact that he was followed out of the room when he left was enough indication. Steve was alone when he settled himself down onto the couch but a few minutes later Loki joined him, a quiet, moody shadow with a bowl of Tony's personal Cheetos stash in tow.

And if, after about an hour, Loki's hands went slack on the bowl and he didn't notice when Steve took it from him and set it on the floor before he dropped it, it wasn't like either of them were going to be telling stories 'round the campfire about it anytime soon.

And if, eventually, Steve found his wrist enclosed by a set of pale fingers that didn't squeeze or yank so much as they simply _held_, he wasn't going to bring it up. Loki did 'silent and pensive' about as well as he did 'unhinged and maniacal cackling', and Steve would be a fool to presume he knew which was more dangerous. It wasn't unlike the day before, though that had required more of an impetus, more specifically meaning Tony being a chip-thieving, cushion-hogging galoot who wouldn't know a good designer if he bit him in the rear, thank you very much.

So Steve didn't move, not even when Loki glanced down, realized what exactly he'd been doing with his hands, and dropped his wrist like it was on fire.

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><p>AN: Thank you so much for all your feedback on the last chapter, kids! I read every word and it really helps me to stay motivated to post chapters in a timely manner. If you have anything to say, please let me know in a review!<p> 


	17. Bloodstone

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Seventeen: Bloodstone<p>

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><p>Loki thought that his heart was going to beat out of his chest.<p>

It occurred to him, briefly and after a night after absolutely no sleep at all that consisted almost entirely of languishing about in clothing that _fit_, that he didn't have to do this. He could forget about it, pretend he'd never said anything, or throw his head back and sneer because when would Thor stop being such a trusting fool when it came to him? It might even be just what it would take to get it through his head, that Loki was a monster and Thor was an idiot and a childhood of not reading had done him no good at all.

Every story said the same thing: the liars lied and the monsters died.

Loki was both; where did that leave him?

There was a tension that hung heavy and thick over the whole mansion and the feeling that Loki was about to do something very, very stupid only intensified when he approached the living room. He could hear Thor in there but no one else; they'd cleared out apparently of their own volition.

Loki was experienced with speeches. He _liked_ speeches, mostly because he was good at them and just like comedy, delivery was everything but this…it stopped him cold. It felt like there was a lump of ice in his stomach that wouldn't budge and had in fact only gotten heavier the more he thought about and agonized over this.

He didn't even know why he was hesitating.

Just outside the door, Loki ran an anxious, not-trembling-at-all hand through his hair. He inhaled, letting himself straighten up and try and muster up some _something_ that he found himself lacking, the same lack of something that made breaths come shallow and heart pound in his ears and what could only be unadulterated terror race through his veins.

He didn't want to do this.

At all.

He didn't want to do this.

It didn't matter what he did or didn't want to do. Not right now, not with this.

Standing here breathing wasn't making this any easier and Loki shoved open the door. It hit the wall with a thud and Thor, sprawled out on the couch like he belonged there, sat up and stared. Those stupid blue eyes were open and clear as always, the jerk, and Loki chewed on his lip.

"Hello," he greeted slowly, tasting the word on his tongue and rolling it around like a wine he wasn't sure he liked.

"Hello, little brother." Thor's voice came low but steady and for a second he looked unlike his normal self, so nervous and expectant in that way that he had no idea what to expect at all. Loki approached with just the slightest rustle of fabric. "You look more comfortable."

"I feel more comfortable," the dark-haired man admitted almost reluctantly, tilting his head to the side scrutinizingly. "I suppose I should…well. Thank you for retrieving my things." _That_ was a little harder to get out and thanking Thor stuck in his throat with prongs. Painfully.

"It was no hardship."

The silence was by far worse than the stilted words, now that Loki had resolved himself to speak and Thor to listen.

"I don't know where to start," Loki finally began, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He could sit down, could ask Thor to move over so that he could take over some of the couch…but he didn't want to. Not when just yesterday, he'd been sitting there with Rogers, bitching about daytime television. Not when he'd found himself reaching to him, _touching_ him, without his own knowledge. Horrifying. "Ask me something."

_Give me something to go on; I'm not used to this._

Thor mulled it over. His face showed the question he'd chosen before his voice did.

"…where did we go wrong?" he finally asked, "All of us. To me, it feels as if one moment, we were fine. The next…well." He made a vague hand gesture. Had Loki not been feeling so serious, he might have huffed or rubbed his temples because really, of all the places to start? Still…

"It all went wrong when I realized that no matter what I did, I'd never really be able to fit in on Asgard," Loki found himself say, almost spitting. Was that acid in his tone? Couldn't be. "When I realized that it didn't matter how proficient I was at anything else, that if I couldn't smash enough heads into the ground with an ax, I'd never be taken seriously. It all went _wrong_, as you like to say, when I left the training ring to laughter and you had joined them and it didn't matter what else happened because my brother, my only brother saw me as the cowardly milksop that everyone else did. And didn't it just make so much sense when Odin finally deigned tell me the truth? And then, oh, of _course_, someone gets to take a long nap and slither out of everything he wrought."

By now Loki had taken to pacing the length of the room. The tone he'd been determined to retain, lofty and dignified and controlled had fled him, leaving him furious and nearly apoplectic already. He'd become somewhat of an expert over the years, pushing _down_ and pushing _away_, pushing anywhere to make sure that nothing would touch him but the memories were back and bringing their poison with them. He could feel it and remembered, the resentment and hurt and anger from so long ago sinking into his skin and his heart like something fatal.

Except that they'd never really been gone. Not really, not if they were still so potent now.

"The youngest prince, the expendable prince, the little shadowy coward who played with magic like a lady and chose books over war and was never, ever good enough. Why was I even _surprised_? Not good enough for Asgard, not even good enough for _Jotunheim_. What does it say when not even the frost giants want you?"

"It says that they're stupid," Thor interrupted quietly, looking almost surprised at himself, "They're stupid. And we're stupid too. I'm such an idiot."

Loki let out a bark of laughter.

He'd have given anything, _anything_ to hear those words at any other point in time when he'd be able to laugh at them. Not now. Right now, all he did was hurt.

"You are. You're an idiot because for so many years, all it would have taken was something, anything from you. I looked up to you so, stupidly I'll admit, but I did. You were always so tall and so bright and I thought that as long as you would still take my side, I'd be okay. But I'm not okay. Maybe I've never been okay."

If he thought about it, Loki could feel phantom snowflakes on his skin, freezing and burning wherever they touched. It was a phantom cold and a phantom pain but it didn't stem the hurt. Was that how he'd been left, small and alone and already despicable on a frozen landscape?

"Years, Thor. Centuries. I don't remember what happy feels like. Happy, not just the absence of despair."

And _oh_, there was a lot of despair.

Thor looked stricken and Loki twisted his hands in the hem of his shirt.

"I want to go home but I don't even know where home is. I thought I knew. I thought I knew, even though it never felt right. I always thought that it was a problem with the location, not with me. Wrong again, I suppose." Home was a well-lit place that didn't need to be gilded with gold to be beautiful. "You'd do best to not doubt my threats, for sadness doesn't weaken me. Others can snivel and sob where they sit, I can and _will_ make everything burn, including you," Loki snarled.

"You can't—you wouldn't do that."

"Don't tell me what I would or wouldn't do. Don't tell me you've never felt better after smashing a few dwarves into mud."

"That's not the same and you know it," Thor protested. Loki raised a single brow.

"No? Really?"

"No. I have always given into temper and that is something that I'll likely need to leash for the rest of my days, but it's not the same. I've wronged you. Father's wronged you. I understand that and I won't argue that. But how has Midgard harmed you? What have these people done to you to warrant your wrath? Would you burn the doctor to ash after all she's done, or force her to bow to you as king—"

"_I never wanted the throne_," Loki hissed, startling Thor back into silence, "I never wanted a crown, never wanted to rule. I just wanted to be seen. If you want to judge me, then judge me for what I _am_, not for what you think I am. If that means razing a realm or two to the ground, then your judgment is then warranted." Nothing was working, nothing was helping, this was a terrible idea in the first place to even try—

He spun on his heel to step towards the door, only to have a large hand with strong fingers enclose around his arm. Thor had gotten to his feet in time to stop him, wild-faced and more upset than Loki had seen in a long while.

"_No_," he insisted, "You don't get to do this. You can't just walk away from me, not after this. You can't just—you can't!"

Loki swatted at him but Thor had always been and always would be physically stronger than he would; he brushed the hits off as one would shoo butterflies.

"In case you haven't noticed, let me give you the memo again. I'm _not_ a good person. I've never _been_ a good person. I do what I want, Thor, and anything I've ever done has been because of its benefit to _me_. Everyone else knows it, so why don't you? I'm a coward and a liar and a thief and everyone knows it but you."

Thor froze as if the words had cut deeper than any blade. Loki's voice was going hoarse in an attempt to _don't cry, don't cry, don't you even __**dare**__ cry._

"You have done terrible things, my brother." His voice shook but he didn't let go. Quite the opposite, he reached out his other hand and gripped Loki's other arm, ignoring how the other man stiffened and tilted his chin away. "You have betrayed the kingdom of Asgard, committed patricide, and attempted genocide." Green eyes closed. There it was. "And yet, as is so conveniently forgotten by our people, you have also committed suicide."

Loki's eyes snapped open and swam with anger and pain. He sneered in Thor's grip, not bothering to try and break away.

"It's not suicide if it fails."

Thor _flinched _for just a second, long enough to get his bearings back.

"It failed by sheer dumb luck and I thank everything every day that it did!" He roared, indignant and furious. Without noticing that he was doing it, he found himself shaking Loki back and forth, not roughly but firmly as if that was the only way he knew how to get his point across. Maybe it was. "You tried to _die_, Loki!"

"Has it ever once occurred to you that I might deserve it?" Loki bellowed in reply, voice pitching before cutting out entirely because _he hadn't meant to say that_. Thor goggled at him in shock but his grip never slackened even as his hands began to tremble. Being clocked in the head with Mjolnir might hurt less.

"You have done terrible things. Unforgiveable, to some. And yet the atrocities committed against you by those who would judge you are unforgiveable to me. And so I forgive you in turn."

Once, just once, Loki tried to pull away. The words sank into him and _burned, burned, burned_.

If Thor would loosen his grip just a little bit, Loki was pretty sure that he could make it over to the window and he was pretty sure that he could manage to smash through the glass. And maybe, if he was lucky, he'd break when he hit the ground.

Thor knew better.

"I hate you," Loki forced out between gritted teeth, "Hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you." If Loki could speak, then he couldn't cry.

"How long?" Thor breathed, "How long have you carried this?"

"Forev—" Loki's voice broke and he choked on the tension that caught in his throat. When had he begun to shake? Pressure and heat built behind his eyes and he tried desperately to blink it away. Failure. Unsurprising, though; failure seemed to be what he was good at. "_Forever_."

"Loki…"

Not two seconds later, Loki dropped.

Thor sank to the floor with him.

The hold he had on anything, everything, snapped like a daisy chain and then Loki was crying harder than he could even remember, hot tears slipping down his cheeks. At some point he had bitten his lip to the point of bleeding and a thumb that didn't belong to him wiped the blood off of his chin.

Thor shifted, wrapping his arms around Loki and holding him as close as possible without actually trying to maneuver him underneath his clothes, almost crouching over his crumpled form in an attempt to shield him, surround him, _protect_ him. Loki shook, his frame wracked with furious, heartbroken sobs that slowly rose into a keening wail and hid his face in Thor's collarbone, feeling a strong arm around his shoulders and a knee that wasn't his against his hip and calloused, warm fingers splayed out to cradle the back of his head.

"Loki, Loki, it's going to be alright," Thor tried to soften his natural rumble as best he could, "I've got you I've got you. I promise, I've got you." Breathing raggedly, he pressed himself closer. Even after all this time, his brother's body felt familiar, bigger and longer since the last time he'd held him like this but still warm and pliant and distinctly Loki.

"Allfather—"

"Is not here, and will not be here," Thor said firmly. "And if he were to show himself here, I would protect you."

Loki shivered.

"I'm a monster," he whispered, "The monster has to die. That's how every story ends."

"Not _yours_." Loki felt Thor's words more than he heard them, felt them as a low rumble from deep in his chest. "You are no monster. You may come from Jotunheim but you are a child of Asgard and more importantly before anything else, you are my brother. My only, irreplaceable little brother. It matters not what you look like or where your talents lie."

"I'm _disgusting_." Loki's hand scrabbled along his lower arm, scratching at the skin until it went raw and red.

"You're _not_," Thor insisted, trying to stop the motion without adjusting his hold, "I won't deny that the revelation was one I didn't see coming, but now I'm just _angry_. Why would Father do that to you, tell you like that when he knew his OdinSleep was coming? Loki, listen…if you desired to shift out of your Aesir form and show your other, live in it, I would support you. But if you never wanted to see it again and wished to remain as you are for the rest of your days…that's fine too. Your skin, your hair, your face…it's not a lie. It's still you. You're still you, no matter what body you're in or what shape you choose to take."

The words hurt in a way that Loki didn't expect, like covering a wound with herb paste. Stung like all hell and the ouch lingered, but given time and enough care the healing would come faster than before. Loki, accustomed to spells and experienced in fixing his own hurts, wondered when he'd forgotten how much he'd always hated going to see a healer before he'd studied and learned enough to be able to avoid them. Now, wracked with heaving, hiccupping sobs and ensconced in a snug hold, Loki wished that he could have maintained the image.

Thor was murmuring unintelligible nonsense now and Loki filtered out what words he might have otherwise registered because his brain was too focused on _pain, pain, pain_. All he could do was hurt and Thor was familiar and strong and _safe_. Yes, he was occasionally fickle. Yes, he had a monster of a temper. But it was clear, had always been clear, that when Thor wanted to protect something, it would remain unharmed. And so Loki allowed himself to relax and just feel, soaking in the warmth and the touch and a firm, broad chest under his cheek that he couldn't so easily break.

Thor's hand was still tangled in his hair, the dark strands twisted around his fingers.

It felt like an eternity before the tears began to subside and Loki could begin to get his breath back, though still interrupted by the occasional hitching sob. At some point, his hands had come up to wrap around Thor's chest and twist in the fabric of his shirt, to touch and hold the only steady thing in existence right now. He didn't loosen his grip even when he was finally silent and Thor remained where he was on the floor, content to hold him until Loki forced him back.

"Are you well, Loki?"

Warm hands ran up his back and down again, stroking patterns into his skin.

Loki closed his eyes and shuddered.

"I feel sick," he admitted, lacking the energy to pull away and look Thor in the face. The last thing he wanted to see was pity. Never pity.

"Shall I call for a healer—" Thor's words cut out when Loki tightened his grip in response. Slowly, Loki shook his head, dark hair falling into his face.

"No. No, no…I don't."

His throat felt raw as if he'd been screaming for days. Maybe he had and he just didn't know it.

"What do you need?"

"I don't know."

The tears that had stopped began again, silently now. A river this time, instead of a typhoon.

"It's too much," he finally continued when he could speak again. "There's too much. I'd never be able to finish."

A squeeze around his shoulders.

"One step at a time, alright, brother? This has festered too long."

"You are an idiot."

"I do hate to disappoint you, as you seem to derive a great deal of pleasure from informing me of such facts."

Loki muffled his startled snort, weak and teary though it was, in Thor's shoulder. He didn't pull away and Thor didn't try and dislodge him or show sign of discomfort, though his big frame tended to cause him problems when it came to sitting in anything but a chair or a saddle. Loki's brain was screaming at him to get away, that he didn't want this, didn't need this. Didn't miss this.

But his body…oh. His body, his heart, the parts of him that didn't bother with the whole thinking thing, they begged for it. The warmth, the security, the support, the knowledge that someone was _there_ and they _knew_ and maybe Thor didn't know everything and maybe things weren't fixed or perfect but he was trying his best. Maybe this wouldn't be the last time Loki found himself feeling like this, desolate and hurt and kitten-weak and still unwaveringly furious in a lot of different directions.

But maybe starting now, things could begin to be okay.

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><p>Loki doesn't so much as twitch for nearly an hour.<p>

Thor does move, eventually just slipping a hand underneath Loki's knees and hauling the both of them up onto the couch so he can rest his back up against something. Loki doesn't protest and allows himself to be manhandled, allows Thor to drape his legs over his lap and adjust him as he pleases. He's tired and his stomach is still roiling with stress and uncertainty but he feels that for just a little while, he can try and let it go.

This is Loki, the liar, the trickster, the one you never see coming, being honest and all he really wants to do right now is sit here for a while and feel like he's not quite so alone.

He hasn't been held like this in centuries. Certainly not since he was small enough to still cry over scraped knees without being mortified, anyway.

He's always been tactile. It's been a while but his body remembers and underneath everything, something inside him fizzes with what can only be the beginnings of what feels like what contentment might be. Loki doesn't know how long he's felt so _old_, or maybe it's more like when he'd last actually felt his age. He's not quite sure. As opposed to his makeshift cushion, who routinely acts as if he's half his age instead.

Neither of them are that old considering that Loki knows for a fact that Odin was drinking mead with Heimdall while watching Midgard form way back when, as if it were one of those ridiculous mortal fireworks displays.

It's quiet and the only sounds are those of breaths being taken, slow and steady and quiet.

Loki sighs and catches one of Thor's wrists, curling a hand around it and pressing the pads of his fingers to his pulse point.

"Your stooges with be back soon," he finally whispers. His heart still pounds in his ears like the most booming war drum. He doesn't have to lift his head to see Thor's shrug. "You won't care?" _You used to_. Another shrug.

"I am doing nothing to be ashamed of," Thor says firmly, shaking his head like an overgrown golden retriever, "I wouldn't care. Would you?"

Oh, most definitely.

Not out of any sort of manly pride of course; of all the things to be insecure about, the level of Loki's perceived masculinity to the mortals is about the last thing he cares about. However, the idea of any of them walking in and seeing _him_ like this, drained and tear-stained and wrapped up like a small child…it's enough to make him feel like vomiting.

There'd definitely be pity, Loki knew. At least Tony would probably mock him for it; that'd be easier.

In the end, Loki doesn't need to answer because his silence is enough indication. Thor just squeezes him tighter around the shoulders and rocks them both from side to side a little. He doesn't make any moves to change his mind soon and Loki settles back down again, his own breaths blowing back the hair that curls around Thor's nape.

Reaching up, he tugs at it, gentler than he means to.

"You need a haircut," he informs him, "Have you decided to grow yourself a mop? Are Stark's robots not enough for you that you need to go over the floors with your head?" The second the words come out, he freezes. That sounded…normal. Frighteningly normal, actually. Thor doesn't seem to notice, only scrunches up his face. Loki can't tell whether he agrees or not.

"I am a warrior. Who cares what my hair looks like?"

Disagreement, then.

Loki tugs again.

"I would imagine that your lady friend probably cares."

"Jane doesn't care what my hair looks like either."

"Alright, suit yourself."

"Who are you to talk to me about hair, anyway?" Thor mutters under his breath, "Yours is longer than mine." He would know, after all, he's still running his hands through it.

"Be quiet, scruffy. It's not about length, it's about quality. Mine has both, yours has one. Guess which?"

…this is ridiculous.

The front door slams.

The reaction is immediate; Loki stiffens and slides out of Thor's lap and onto the adjacent cushion. For just a moment, Thor's grip tightens as if he's going to stop him. He lets him go, though, just as the one known as Hawkeye pokes his head in the living room. If Loki hadn't been so focused on other things at that moment he might laugh solely because of the look that crosses over the other man's face: as if he's been clobbered about the head and shoulders with either a cudgel or a very large tuna.

Hawkeye gapes.

Loki looks him straight in the eyes and raises a single brow as if daring him to say anything, be it about his disheveled appearance or the red around his eyes. Doctor Moran would describe it as _wanna make something of it_, most definitely. The other man doesn't take his challenge and looks away first. Loki relishes the discomfort that he displays openly because it's nice to see that _someone_ around here finds him intimidating.

It's only when they're alone again that Loki speaks.

"I'm going to go," he says slowly, gesturing in the general direction of the upstairs and unsure as to how exactly phrase the feeling that if he has even one more bit of togetherness with Thor, he might start crying again and _no_, that is not happening.

"Will you eat dinner with us? Tony is ordering pizzas." Thor's eyes are bright and blue and so damn hopeful that Loki kind of feels like any harsh word is going to be like kicking something adorable and hopelessly stupid that can't help its own idiocy. He's always been a bit of a sucker for it, actually. Loki huffs a little and crosses his arms over his chest, getting to his feet and staring down at the blonde man who's still seated on the couch.

"Your friends won't be happy," he comments, voice deceptively mild, purposefully bland.

Thor shrugs.

"Steve and Tony won't care; they actually seem to be rather fond of you."

Steve, Loki could see. The guy was more mature but occasionally had glimmers of that same, innocent idiocy that Loki recognized easily from centuries with Thor. That's what happened when you accidentally let a bit of vulnerability slip, he supposed. Tony? Not a damn chance. Not unless persistently invading his personal space, mocking him mercilessly, and invading even more of his personal space were signs of affection, anyway.

Loki levels a side-eye at Thor.

Actually, all things considered, he probably shouldn't rule out the whole no-boundaries thing just yet.

"And the others?"

Thor shrugs again like he's just been asked how many boars Volstagg has consumed when no one's been paying attention.

"It's Tony's house. If he doesn't care, no one can say anything. Will you?"

Loki thinks, possibly for a bit too long.

"…I'll think on it," he replies, finally, and Thor's face lights up like the gambling hall that Loki bankrupted a few months before all of this. Loki turns away and starts walking in the direction of the stairs. The sides of his lips tilt up a little and it's not because some of the knots in his stomach have loosened a bit, not in the slightest.

He just likes pizza, that's all.

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><p>AN: Thank you for reading, you guys! Please leave a review if you have anything to say; I love to hear your opinions, be they praise or criticism. Feedback really helps to keep me motivated and posting and not going weeks between updates, which I'm prone to doing when uninspired.<p> 


	18. Lapis

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Eighteen: Lapis<p>

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><p>AN: Thank you all for all of your feedback, alerts, and favorites! As of last night, this fanfic is not Avengers-compliant.<p>

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><p>When Loki gave up on sleeping that night and dragged himself out to the living room, it was 3:37 in the morning and Tony was out on the lanai, drinking.<p>

Stark drinking wasn't exactly unusual; he'd apparently toned it down but he was no teetotaler. Living with Thor, the embodiment of eat-drink-and-be-merry probably didn't help that much, considering that Thor considered waking up that day as cause for celebration. The hour, though, that was unusual.

Giving up on sleep and figuring that he could probably do double duty of messing with Stark and swindling a drink out of him at the same time, Loki dropped his blanket onto the cushion and pushed the door open.

"Doesn't excessive consumption of alcohol tend to cause death in you mortals?" he asked placidly. Tony looked up at him and glared. He'd been out here for a while, judging by the rumpled look of him and general aura of discontent.

"What do you care?"

"Oh, I don't," Loki replied, pulling out another chair and slumping down into it, "It makes my life easier, actually. One less moron to deal with. Go on, keep drinking." Tony slammed his glass down onto the table with a solid thunk.

"Piss off."

"Don't be rude."

Stark made a dirty hand gesture, to which Loki replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Crude but overdone. Try again."

"The hell kind of prince are you, anyway?" Tony was slurring a little bit, not enough to indicate flat out drunk but more along the lines of tipsy. With a put-upon sigh, Loki grabbed the remainder of his drink and downed it, feeling the burn on his throat as it went down. Lightweight compared to what was served in Asgard, but it would get the job done. "'ey, that was mine! Yer a shitty prince. All that setting shit on fire and…shit."

"You got that right," Loki muttered. Tony grabbed for his glass. "I can see that you're more eloquent when you're drunk. You only get this back if you share."

"What do you want my booze for?"

"Bored, can't sleep, and rather entertained by the sight of you, shall we say, 'shwasted'."

"Yer an ass," Tony declared belligerently, but nevertheless shoved a glass across the table along with a bottle of amber liquid, "I only mix drinks for pretty ladies." Green eyes went skyward but Loki pushed his stolen glass across as if they were exchanging prisoners.

"I've been a pretty lady before," he said conversationally.

"Yeah but yer not now."

"True enough," he admitted and sent a generous splash of alcohol into his glass, "In retrospect, all I would have had to do to take control of this world would have been to take female form and remove my top." He was startled out of his reverie by Tony snickering at him. "Shut up, I'm being entirely serious!"

"Yeah, and that's what's funny."

Loki glared and didn't bother to dignify that ridiculousness with a response.

"Supervillain or not, I'd have felt you up anyway. Probably."

"And whatever do you think people would have written on your tombstone then? Anthony Stark, killed by his own stupidity, betrayed by his wandering hands?"

"About par for the course in terms of what people would expect from me."

Sarcastically, Tony raised his glass in a mockery of a toast, knocking back about half of it. In contrast, Loki preferred to sip his drink. The burn was slower but steady and Loki found himself appreciating the taste. Mead and ale were nice if you wanted to get straight-up smashed but they weren't much in terms of taste. This on the other hand…well, Loki could get behind this.

Even if Aesir toddlers could probably handle it.

"I can see what you're thinking."

"Oh really," Loki deadpanned, "Do enlighten me."

"God you're such an ass," Another swig, "You're thinkin' that we don't know what's what when it comes to booze."

In an effort to be as obnoxious as possible, Loki began to slow clap.

"Oh, bravo."

"You'll regret thinkin' like that," Tony told him, gesturing with his glass, "Thor can outdrink me, yeah, but shit if he didn't get himself knackered proper offa this."

Well now, that was interesting.

"Sounds like a challenge."

"And here I thought people from Asgard don't get subtext."

Loki snorted and most definitely did not swig. He sipped… largely.

"No, _Thor_ doesn't get subtext. I on the other hand am perfectly capable of knowing when someone is trying to, what's the phrase, bust my balls?"

Things were fine until Stark started _giggling_ at him.

"Please never stop using Americanisms, they're hysterical coming from you."

"I think at this point you might find about anything hysterical," Loki commented dryly, swirling his drink around. If this wasn't one of the most surreal moments he'd ever had in his life, he wasn't sure what was. He seemed to be having a lot of those, actually. Momentarily distracted, he cocked an eyebrow into his glass. The burn was fading a little bit, clouding out until it was more of a faint warmth that settled in his stomach. Well. Maybe he'd have to change his opinions on mortal alcohol after all.

"You know what sucks?" Tony continued as if Loki hadn't said anything at all, "Other than black holes and vacuums and shit. Family bullshit."

Loki blinked.

"Are you attempting to _commiserate_ with a well-known supervillain who kind of doesn't give half a damn? You _are_ drunk."

"And yer not drunk enough."

Point taken.

Tony raised his glass again as Loki drained the rest of his and refilled it.

"Mazel tov."

"You really expect to outdrink a god?" Loki asked sardonically and Tony shrugged. The other man leant forward and rested his chin in his hands.

"Nah, I know better. But you can't resist a challenge and I'm at least going to get the pleasure of seeing you plastered."

* * *

><p>By the time he'd finished his fifth glass, they were on a second bottle and Loki could swear that it must be morning considering the warm haze that had taken over his brain at some point and left him slurring. Stark on the other hand remained his irritating, talkative self. Loki was willing to indulge, though.<p>

One more glass down the hatch and _oh_, was he willing to indulge.

"Dude, man. You and I should be bros."

"There is something horribly wrong with your brain. How many times were you dropped?"

"No, no seriously. Listen. It makes total sense! I hate my father and want him to rot for the rest of eternity, and you hate everything and want…whatever the hell it is that you want. Perfect team."

"I am going to hit you, Stark."

"Just try it, I see you squinting at me. You couldn't hit a rhino in the schnoz right now. I'll even be nice and not move."

Loki made an experimental fist and thrust it across the table. His vision swam and he winced.

"Fine. I'll hit you when I'm sober." He groaned and rubbed his temples. "I am so inebriated."

"Who the fuck says inebriated when they're drunk?"

"You do," Loki replied and gave into the urge to stick his tongue out. "Refill."

"Still not a pretty lady."

"I'm pretty enough." For emphasis, Loki waggled his glass and batted his eyelashes. "You're so tankered that it doesn't even matter."

"Yeah, okay. Fine, I'll give you that one. God, we're so drunk."

To the victor go the beautiful, alcoholic spoils.

"Fuckin' cheers," Tony drawled, slumping over in his seat and clinking their glasses together.

"And what are we toasting?"

"I don't fuckin' know. Being shitfaced on a weekday?"

Close enough.

For a while they simply sat there in the low lighting of the terrace in the dark, silent and mulling things over. Green eyes shadowed and stared into his glass. Finally, in a voice that failed to expose his actual level of intoxication,

"Why do you hate your father?"

Tony made a vulgar noise and slammed his glass down onto the table.

"Because he's a goddamned asshole and I'm glad he's dead."

_No, you're not_ was what Loki wanted to say, because it was the truth and it would probably hurt and it would make Tony angry enough to start yelling and maybe give Loki an excuse to start yelling right back. And that was interesting because last he checked, he didn't want to yell about much of anything. At least not when he had a drink in his hand. Logically, it was a terrible idea.

Tony was now grumbling into his glass, a look of intense distress on his face.

The warm, hazy feeling that had taken over Loki's head and made him feel like he was floating had left him, leaving him feeling cold and upset for no discernible reason.

"I hate everything."

It took him about thirty seconds to realize that he had been the one to speak and that Tony was staring across the table at him, bleary-eyed but far too lucid for Loki's liking.

"You know, that explains a lot about you. Everything is a lot of stuff to hate. Me, Thor, _your_ dad, life in general. You." The words were mild and calm, almost as Tony had been playing a game this whole time. Almost. The not quite woozy look to his eyes gave away what his tone didn't. Loki dragged in a breath because there was a rushing in his head and a tightness in his chest and so much pressure that breathing was like slogging through sludge.

There was a noise that couldn't possibly have come from him, something between a strangled whimper and a sob.

He downed the rest of his drink and Tony suddenly reached out to take it from him, fumbling just a bit.

"Hey. Hey, I think you've had enough."

"Not a chance."

"No, seriously, I think you've had enough."

On a hunch, Loki reached up and pressed the tips of his fingers to his cheeks.

Wet.

Loki pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes so he wouldn't see what Tony's pity looked like. He waited for…something. He wasn't sure what, maybe some panicked fluttering such as the type he'd possibly get from Thor or worse, _sympathy_. Rogers was definitely the type to dish out sympathy. Nothing came though and eventually, he composed himself enough in his intoxicated state to manage looking up.

Tony was mimicking his position from earlier, staring into his glass as if it held the answers to the universe.

"God, I never thought I'd have anything in common with you."

Loki wasn't entirely positive but after a while, Tony seemed to make up his mind about something. He set down Loki's stolen glass and refilled it, then his own. The rest of the bottle, almost half full and likely very expensive, got chucked over the railing.

"You'd better have a good reason for wasting that," he grumbled, rubbing his eyes with one hand and reaching across the table with the other. Cut crystal met his fingertips and he brought it towards him.

"If we've gotten to the point that we're gettin' weepy about the level of emotional fuckery we've each got, it's time to quit drinkin'. One more, then we're done. No one ever needs to know about this."

"You got a head start."

"You'll live."

Loki took a vindictive drink, locking eyes with Tony across the table and glowering. The effect was dimmed, alas by the red around his eyes and by the fact that Tony matched him drink for drink, silently, until their glasses were empty. Tony lurched to his feet and made an altogether unpleasant face before reaching out and smacking Loki in the shoulder.

"'Night, drunky."

"I hope you rot," Loki growled in response from his seat, his reply receiving only a snicker.

Tony opened the door and went back inside. He almost passed the couch…only to apparently give up and flop onto it. Right on top of Loki's blanket.

"_Excuse_ you, do you mind?" Loki snapped, following him indignantly. Tony flapped a hand at him, nearly asleep already.

"Not a bit."

Irritated, Loki yanked on the corner of his blanket.

"Could you be any more in the way?"

"Quit your bitchin'," Tony mumbled, shifting away to face the cushion. A clumsy hand reached out and tugged the blanket away from a very irritated, very tired Norse god only to pull it up over his shoulders and completely over his head. Loki' glare intensified until his head hurt.

"Anthony Stark, you are going to hand over my blanket, get off of that couch, and go away before I beat you to death."

"Rhino schnoz, baby. Go to bed."

Loki resisted actually giving into his desire to punch the man until they were both sober enough to appreciate it before making up his mind. He gave one audible, put-upon sigh and straightened up to his full height. Bared, pale-skinned arms crossed over his chest.

"Okay, fine, then. Since you've stolen my spot, I'll just have to steal yours."

Tony just mumbled incoherently at him and Loki stomped up the stairs to where he knew Tony's bedroom was. Cracking his passcode took a little work but was easy enough to get through. Normally he'd spare at least a couple of seconds to examine the décor but there wasn't enough room in his brain for that because there was a _bed_ and it was _huge _and by the love of everything holy, it was calling his name.

Loki collapsed into it with a satisfied thwump and crawled underneath layers of blankets until everything was hazy and humming pleasantly in his head.

It didn't matter that he was going to wake with a headache the likes of which he hadn't experienced in about five hundred years or that he was occupying the bed belonging to a man who he absolutely did not like at all, or that he hadn't had the sense to brush his teeth before getting so damned comfortable.

All that mattered was that he _was_ comfortable, he was warm, and he was well on his way to sleeping for what he hoped would be at least twelve hours.

* * *

><p>Loki was floating and dreaming in an in-between state of consciousness, burrowed into a cocoon of blankets.<p>

It was dark but an unfamiliar kind, not the darkness he usually dreamt about that froze and smothered and killed but one that felt like a hug, like the sweetness of a mother's hand breaking through fever to soothe and comfort. Fabric was soft on his cheeks and he sighed, rolling over and curling in on himself.

There was a noise in the background but he wasn't awake enough to hear it.

The mattress dipped as foreign weight was put on it but Loki couldn't care, not now. Not when his heart was free and his head was empty of thought for once, slow and sluggish, and it was beautiful.

He managed to force his eyes open, just a tiny bit, and he blinked languidly, knowing that he should be more worried by the presence of someone next to him. The worry could wait.

Everything could wait, Loki decided, until he had the faculties to care about it.

Green eyes shut and the world went properly black.

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><p>AN2: Please leave a comment if you have anything to say, be it praise or criticism! I read every word and appreciate all of your opinions. Thank you for reading!<p> 


	19. Citrine

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Aren't I sweet? The last chapter got so much buzz that I decided to be nice and give you another chapter early. Let the revelry begin.<p>

ALSO. I have some questions that need to be addressed.

1) This fic is gen. I don't know if I've said that, but this fic is officially gen. That's not to say that there won't be subtext because I pretty much ship about everyone, but officially there are no pairings.

2) I've gotten a few questions about my chapter titles. Answer: I'm a giant nerd. All of the chapters in this fic are named after particular gemstones, rocks, or minerals. All of these have a particular meaning that I have looked up and found applicable to the chapter they represent. I tend to make a point of giving my chapters a theme; in **Limits**, it was music terms. For **Truthfully**, it's gemstones.

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><p>Chapter Nineteen: Citrine<p>

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><p>The first stirrings of consciousness hit with the impact of butterflies.<p>

The first thing that Loki noticed was that he was the most comfortable he'd been in a very long time and that he was never getting up again.

The second thing that Loki noticed was that his head felt like it was about to explode and that yes, there was a reason that Loki generally avoided the sort of behavior that he'd indulged in last night.

The third thing that Loki noticed was that he wasn't alone, that his ankles were tangled up with someone else's and there was an arm slung over him and his face was nestled into a warm shoulder left bare by a tank top. A lesser man might have given into the instinct to shriek and flail. Loki, however, had grown up with Thor in a society that did a _lot_ of drinking. He had his priorities despite it all.

First things first.

Loki peeked under the covers.

Good. Two people, two pairs of pants. As it should be.

This was far from the first time that Loki had woken up in bed with someone else under questionable circumstances and while it had never been Tony Stark before, at least no one was naked and, judging from the throbbing in his head, he at least had drank enough to make him see stars. Luckily, alcohol not only imbued him with the kinds of hangovers he'd like nothing more than to inflict upon Nidhogg himself and a concrete disinterest in sex while intoxicated, but the lack of restraint that would lead to punching someone in the face in retaliation to any attempted wrongdoing.

No black eyes or broken jaws either.

Good, then.

Most of the evening was hazy but Loki distinctly remembered owing Tony a hit for something and he couldn't enjoy it properly with all the trumpeters of Asgard taking up residence in his head. There was the immediate problem of the fact that they were currently _snuggling_ and the even more immediate problem with the fact that Loki didn't find it quite as reprehensible as he would have expected it to. If not for the fact that right now, even blinking was painful and his entire body felt as if each of his limbs were pinned by Mjolnir, Loki would already have been long gone.

_Everything is a lot of stuff to hate._

Where did _that_ come from?, Loki wondered. Before he could think about it too hard, bone and muscle and skin were moving under his cheek and Tony began to stir, hands instinctively curling around the body he currently held. Loki forced himself to not move and silently hated himself for the brief hope that the quiet would last.

Still, after all this? No way was he missing the look of comprehension that he knew wouldn't disappoint when the other man opened his eyes and tried to figure out what was going on.

Not to mention the look of the inevitable horror.

It was going to be beautiful.

Stifling a wince, Loki shifted to prop himself up on his elbow, Tony's still limp arm sliding from his shoulders to his waist.

Brown eyes opened, bleary and entirely unsuspecting. Loki found himself smiling in expectation.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he crooned.

It took a little while for coherency to take hold but when it did, it did with a vengeance. A man with a smaller bed would have fallen right off with the way Tony squeaked and rolled in the opposite direction, once, then twice. Two seconds later, he was burying his face in the pillows, clutching his head.

"Oh my god," his muffled voice could be heard from somewhere in the pillowcase, "I'm in Hell. This has got to be what Hell is like."

It was worth the feeling of a fishbowl sloshing around in his head to stretch luxuriously, arms going up over his head and rolling his shoulders. At least until the light began to hurt too badly and he hauled a blanket up over his head to surround himself in blessed darkness again.

"What the hell even happened?"

Loki rubbed his chin.

"I fear it gets a little fuzzy for me but I do believe that we spent the majority of the time before dawn getting drunk off of our faces. There is a _reason_ I haven't done this in five hundred years," Loki grumbled, "Not since drinking was novel and I discovered the spell to turn water into ale."

"Did we—?"

"Pants check, Stark, already done. And trust me, had anything untoward been suggested, you might be missing your nose. Or another certain body part that I know you cherish."

"How are you even coherent?" Tony moaned and found himself following the other man's lead in hiding under blankets and making the world as dark as possible. Or maybe just trying to smother himself with his mattress.

"I'm not," Loki admitted, voice wry and pained and yet somehow, rather amused, "Just better at hiding it. I assure you, if you have as many badly-trained musicians in your head as I, you're suffering indeed." Tony tilted his head and glared but gave up after a few seconds in favor of trying to suffocate himself.

"Why are you even here?"

"You stole my blanket and my sleeping space."

…it sounded a lot better in his head, actually. Tony just snuffled at him and it briefly occurred to Loki that he really should be more upset about this. Really.

"In my defense, I did tell you. It's no fault of mine that you were too unintelligible at the time to appreciate the warning."

"But why my bed?"

"You took my blanket, Stark. _And_ the only area in this thrice-cursed place that I've found sleep to come easily."

In the words of the mortals, _shit_. Loki must have been more hung over than he thought considering that no, he'd most definitely not meant for those words to come out of his mouth. He might have backpedaled or taken them back but the words wouldn't come and Tony was _looking_ at him. Not just looking at him, but staring with the most unreadable look on his face as if seeing Loki for the first time.

"So wait, wait. The only place you can sleep is that sofa? God, no wonder you've got bags under your eyes all the time."

"I owe you a punch to the face. Don't make me dish it out yet. Oh, my head…"

As if making up his mind about something, Tony snorted decisively into the pillow before rolling over to look Loki in the face.

"I'd totally get up, but I feel like if I move, I'll projectile vomit all over my bed."

"Super charming," Loki quipped and avoided his eyes, just as Tony extended an arm, made like he was going to reach across Loki to grab something on his other side, and…curled his fingers around the scruff of his neck instead. Loki started and made to scoot away but for some reason he couldn't remember where the edge of the bed was and the touch wasn't necessarily an unwelcome one, and in the end remained still long enough to end up right back where he started with a body he didn't know all that well twined around him like a cat. "_What_ in the nine realms do you think you're doing, exactly?" he forced out, tense and testy.

He felt Tony shrug more than he saw it.

"You don't look like you're getting up anytime soon. I know I'm not. Besides, you're fun to bother."

The forcedly nonchalant way that the other man held himself even now said something altogether different, though what it meant be Loki had no idea. There was more to that, he just knew it. Didn't make it make any more sense, though.

"Is this what they mean when they talk about being in bed with the enemy?"

Tony sniggered then flinched.

"Stop talking; the more you make me laugh, the more pain I'm in."

"Good."

"Oh, be quiet and quit freaking out," he grumbled in reply, "You know how many ladies'd kill for your spot?"

"Go find some of them."

"Can't. I'm in here and they're out there. Anyway, chill out. 's no big deal. Skinship, man."

"And did you engage in this 'skinship' with my brother the last time you two…indulged?" Loki asked, realizing too late just what he'd said. It didn't go unnoticed. Brown eyes widened comically and Loki looked away because he hadn't even had to think about what that word said and what it meant for him. It still felt so heavy when he thought about it, bringing with it the lion's share of pain, a fair amount of hurt, and yet… there was hope, too.

The time that felt like hours only lasted a couple of seconds.

"'fraid not," Tony eventually replied, his words accompanied by a squeeze of his arms and light circles being rubbed into Loki's nape with his thumbs, "You just get to be the special recipient of my drunken affections. Aren't you excited?"

"Joy," Loki muttered.

Unwillingly, he found himself nevertheless beginning to relax under the attention. No, he wasn't entirely comfortable with this. No, he really had no idea why he was even here because at this point, personal pride had nothing to do with it. No, this _really_ hadn't been on Loki's agenda for the day. Still, his head felt like it was going to explode and the prospect of facing daylight with that kind of headache was not a pleasant one and he still felt so _heavy_, as if every movement was like swimming through molasses and about as effective.

He didn't feel trapped like this, despite the skin to skin contact and the fact that he had expected to feel caged and forced.

Instead he just felt a little put out, mostly because Tony was annoying. Maybe it was a hangover thing. Maybe it was a hangover Loki thing. He didn't really know.

Tense muscles relaxed and Loki let his whole body slacken against Tony's until he couldn't differentiate the contact points, hip to hip and shoulder and shoulder. It was simply touch and a warm body next to his.

"Any idea what time is it?"

"No," Loki grumbled, "Stop talking." Tony ducked his head and nuzzled his nose into Loki's hair and Loki realized then, suddenly, that he was indulging in a hold of his own. At some point, his own arms had come up to encircle Tony's waist, his fingertips tracing patterns over his ribs. It was kind of…nice, he had to admit.

No expectations, no chains, just the implicit agreement that for the time being this was fine.

He had to still be drunk, definitely, Loki decided and closed his eyes to breathe against Tony's shoulder until sleep found him once again.

* * *

><p>Steve Rogers had always been an early riser and even being frozen hadn't changed that, so when he awoke the next morning to find himself the only person up and ready to go, he wasn't really surprised. Except…<p>

Wait.

That wasn't right. For the last while, _he _hadn't been the first person up. Steve wouldn't really call Loki a morning person but he was usually awake at the very least. More than Thor, anyway, who if left to his own devices would sleep until noon with relish.

Steve peeked into the living room and the kitchen, both empty save for a rumpled blanket on the couch. So were both the den and the rec room. Upon exiting the living room, a sparkle from outside caught his attention and Steve wandered out onto the lanai. An assortment of empty alcohol bottles (the hard stuff too, George T Stagg and a bottle of Everclear and tequila) littered the table, along with two glasses, both empty.

At least Tony hadn't been mixing grape and grain.

On a whim, Steve leaned over the railing and examined the shoreline.

Lying in the sand half-covered was a large bottle of some kind, still with about half of its contents sloshing around inside. Steve raised an eyebrow.

Someone at least had had a party last night.

The right question, he supposed, was whether Tony had been drinking for two or not.

For a brief moment, Steve stayed where he was and thought, idly running a finger across his chin. Something felt hinky. He left the lanai and wandered back to the other end of the house, up the stairs, down the hallway, until he came to a closed door.

He drew in a breath and knocked.

There was no response from inside. Not a single sound, not a rustle, certainly not a voice.

"Hey," he called, "Loki? You in there?"

Nothing.

Steve sighed and out of habit, glanced towards the ceiling.

"Excuse me, JARVIS?"

God, it was still weird to remember that the house nearly had a consciousness of its own.

"Yes, Steve Rogers?"

"Can you check and see if there's anyone in this room?" Steve asked, and it wasn't a second before the A.I. gave him an answer.

"Negative, this room is empty."

"Could you locate Loki for me, please?"

A moment of deliberation before the A.I. spoke up again, sounding almost put-out. Or resigned, it was difficult to tell.

"Loki is currently in Tony's bedroom."

"…and Tony?" Steve asked slowly, as if speaking slower would make things make more sense. Unfortunately, as with most things of that nature, it didn't help. If JARVIS could have sighed, he probably would have. If JARVIS had been a human butler, he most definitely would have. Probably would have popped a few pain relievers too, just because the job came with the headaches.

"It is not against my protocols to give you visual verification, if you would like," A panel on the wall flickered and Steve shook his head rapidly, turning on a heel and making his way in the opposite direction.

"No, no thank you. Really don't need the image, thank you, JARVIS."

This time, there was no hesitation in Steve's knock on the door; concern and a surprisingly intense curiosity emboldened him and he knocked about four more times, _loudly_, before he heard the sound of someone stumbling around and fumbling with the door.

Blinking with disorientation and what looked to be a fair bit of irritation, Tony leaned against the doorframe, bleary-eyed and scruffy and clothed only in a pair of sleep pants and a tank top. Steve reeled back, hand instinctively flying up to cover his nose at the scent that hit him like a battering ram.

"Good grief, man. What have you been _doing_ in here, starting your own brewery?"

Tony coughed against the backdrop of a dark room.

"Probably woulda been a better idea than what we actually got up to, now that I think about it. Cheaper and less painful."

From the direction of the bed, there came a pained whine. Frowning, Steve leaned forward and peered around his friend to fixate on the mountain of blankets on Tony's bed that now appeared to be moving all on their own. And groaning. And sounding remarkably like Loki, if Loki had ever whined in his presence or made any sort of noise that gave off the impression that he might have been around ten years old.

"What did you _do_ to him?" Steve hissed under his breath, staring in horror as a dark head dragged itself out of its cocoon, green eyes glaring balefully at him, before dropping immediately back down to the pillow.

"Tonyyyyy, make the room stop spinning."

As if there was any doubt now that it was Loki, there was none now. And he was whining. Definitely, definitely whining.

"I did nothing," Tony defended himself, gripping the doorframe for support, "He did it all to himself." Pausing, he cast a quick glance behind himself, then turned to face Steve again. "Pretty cute when he's drunk, though. Except for the crying thing. But he _snuggles_ and it is _adorable_. God, I've gotta still be intoxicated if I'm calling that guy cute."

Steve had been about a second away from demanding answers on why exactly Loki had been crying but got stuck on the bit about snuggling. Silently, he shifted his gaze from the lump in the bedcovers to Tony, back to Loki, and then back to Tony again. He raised an eyebrow in a pointed stare.

"Seriously, cross my heart," Tony said with a criss-crossing gesture over his arc reactor, "Don't look at me like that."

"Steeeeeeve," came another plaintive whine.

Babysitter. Steve Rogers was going to be a babysitter forever.

"Can I help you?" he asked dryly, pushing past Tony and approaching the bed. About a foot away, he stopped and stuck out a hand, patting blindly to where he figured Loki's head might be at this point.

"I am never drinking again," Loki declared, his voice muffled, "Never, ever, ever. I promise."

"What do you want? The sweet talking's weird as hell."

"Make it darker. Maybe cut my head off too."

Steve gave him another head pat and turned to leave, stopping just before he left the room.

"When you can manage to haul yourself out of bed, I'll make you some eggs; food'll help sober you up and get rid of the headache. You are both idiots."

Steve hadn't been in the kitchen for five minutes when Loki trudged in, cranky and miserable but awake and dressed, and the silence that reigned was a gentle one, sweet and calm.

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><p>AN2: As always, please leave me a review if you have anything to say! I'm not saying that it has everything to do with how fast I update, but it certainly gives me incentive to be nice and possibly give a faster update. Thank you for reading!<p> 


	20. Opal

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: There's something mentioned in this chapter that I borrowed from another writer. Loki mentions a food called smoke sugar, I borrowed this concept from <strong>Vathara<strong>'s amazing fic **Embers**. I know, I know, entirely different fandom and everything, but credit where credit is due. Also, all of you should go read it, because it's kind of the best thing ever.

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><p>Chapter Twenty: Opal<p>

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><p>"Hello, Loki," Doctor Moran said as she entered and sat down in her chair. She raised a brow at Loki, who was perched on his bed, put-together but still rubbing his temples with a persistent wince. "Problem?"<p>

It may have been her imagination, but for a few seconds, Loki looked s_heepish_.

"I've simply been given a reminder on why I tend to pass on alcohol when offered," he commented with a tiny, crooked smile, "I was due for it, I suppose."

"Probably not the best idea, no," the doctor replied, chuckling a little bit. Loki didn't look offended that she'd laughed, in fact, if she wasn't wrong in how she was reading him, he seemed to agree with her on the matter.

"Most definitely," he confirmed, "What's the topic today?"

A second eyebrow met the first high on her forehead.

Loki, closemouthed, temperamental, standoffish Loki had just asked what she wanted to talk about today. Without resentment or sulkiness, even. He wasn't always in a bad mood persay but he had never acted even remotely anticipatory or relaxed, at least not before he'd heard what she had to say.

"Did something happen?" she asked cautiously. She didn't want to destroy this unexpected peace with assumptions or to say anything to rock the boat, tentative though it was. Loki didn't notice her hesitancy and scratched the back of his head in an attempt to smooth down his hair that still stuck up a little in certain places.

"It's been…" he paused briefly, reconsidering his words, "It's been a long twenty-four hours. A _strange_ twenty-four hours." Doctor Moran simply nodded at him in encouragement.

_Keep talking, keep talking._

"Long story short? I had words with Thor, ate dinner with the stooges without fanfare, and then proceeded to get spectacularly drunk and woke up in Stark's bed."

Silence until,

"Sounds like you had fun then."

Loki choked and made an entirely too amusing sputtering sound.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" he asked, incredulous. That was not exactly how he'd classify fun, not with bawling all over creation and ignoring Hawkeye's suspicious stares and then spending the entirety of the next day nursing the granddaddy of all hangovers. No, that was indeed not the way he'd classify fun. Fun was setting things on fire or getting Stark's suit covered with marshmallow or getting a hand massage. But Doctor Moran was still watching him with what might have been the softest expression he'd ever seen and far from setting off the familiar spark of rage that it might have because a few months ago that would have looked like _pity_, he found himself softening just a little to match it instead.

"Anyway," the woman continued again, removing her glasses from her face and polishing the lenses without looking at them, "I'd actually like to talk to you about something a bit different."

Loki blanched, just a little bit.

"You've been essentially under house arrest here for the past while."

Confused as to where this was going, Loki nodded an indication for her to continue. She hadn't been having him on; this _was_ a new one and he had to admit that he wasn't exactly positive as to where she was planning to take it.

"How are you managing with that? While I don't necessarily blame anyone for their precautions and personally I'm relieved that they're not keeping you tied up in the basement—"

Loki couldn't hold back the snicker; _creative_. And ineffectual.

"I also know that you're used to being out and about. You had a routine and a life outside of the villainy. I don't know if you know this, but a lot of people know you. Apparently, SHIELD is still receiving letters about you. If I'm not mistaken, your yoga instructor has without fail been emailing video recordings from each session since she found out you were hurt." Doctor Moran paused for a few moments to let that sink in because Loki's face had gone completely unreadable as if he'd shut everything down.

It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it, not by far. Most of the time he could push it away, but every so often when he wasn't paying attention, something inside him would scream or whimper _get out, get out_. Sometimes it was all he could do to not scream himself or to realize that it was Monday and that he was missing his appointment with Mrs. Kim, and sometimes all he had to do was look out the window to feel something sick inside him twist. But now, to know that he hadn't been _forgotten_, that all those people who'd known who he was the whole time still thought about him even when they had no reason to fear retribution for disrespect…

Somehow, the knowledge made the ache deeper.

"What's wrong? I know that look," she said.

"…it was easier when I assumed that no one cared," Loki answered after deliberation, voice low and soft. His hands twisted anxiously in his lap. "Easier still if I possessed a fraction of a clue as to what is going to happen to me."

Once again, he was reminded of how much more comfortable he would have been in Asgard, worse off but secure in what was expected of him and what he could expect in return. The prison you knew, he supposed, was in some ways safer than the one you didn't.

"What would you do if you were suddenly released today? Be honest, what's the first thing you'd do?"

Loki considered the question. His hands continued to twist and when he realized his answer he looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

"Loki?"

"I might not seem the type," he began, "To be the type of person to enjoy sweet things. You wouldn't expect it, right? There's a confection one can make, however, if one has patience and the power to manipulate fire, involving blown sugar bubbles filled with wood smoke. If I had the option….well. I do miss it." He paused and glanced down at his lap, dark hair falling into his eyes. Doctor Moran waited silently until he raised his head and finally, finally, looked her in the eyes. "Light as glass and so sweet until they crunch or melt and you get the smoke."

"Where did you first have them?" the doctor asked, leaning back. Loki seemed willing enough to speak right now and even if it was about something relatively superficial, that willingness was something she was going to treasure. Rightfully so.

At her question, Loki shot her a tiny, wry smile.

"It's a rather undignified dessert, more of a snack than a dessert, really. It was never made in court, what with all the crunching and the sniffing and the cracking." he mused, raising a hand to tap a finger to his chin, "The kitchens in Asgard have several mages in their service, mostly for special effects and artistry that you can't get otherwise. Like managing to get a sugar doe to hold together on a field of ice or marzipan dragons to flap their wings, that sort of thing. Very beautiful but not terribly functional. I used to hide out in the kitchens before I was old enough for magic lessons; I suppose I was a rather precocious child and even though it wasn't a particularly royal thing to do, it was the one place that I knew no one had the time to shoo away a curious child. It helped that I didn't try and touch everything; Mother—the queen had to ban Thor after he snuck in and broke so many plates that the cooks complained." Loki shifted and curled his legs up underneath him, settling firmly into a more relaxed, conversational tone. "When the kitchen mages were on their breaks they'd go out to the wood stacks and grab a few hickory logs, and anyone with a talent for fire would make sugar bubbles. You get the smoke inside by breathing it in, you see. They would have gotten into horrible trouble if anyone had found out that they were inadvertently teaching me, so they used to bribe me with them. Unnecessary but appreciated."

"That sounds like a good memory for you," Doctor Moran said and set her glasses back on top of her head. Loki's smile widened the slightest bit.

"It is," he replied. "If I'm ever allowed my magic back, I'll be sure and have you try it."

"I'd like that. Just remember, Loki, nothing's ever hopeless. That you're given as much freedom as you are, as little as it may seem sometimes, says a lot about your prospects. Keep your head up."

"Yes, because clearly, SHIELD is going to release me back into the wild to wreak havoc on the mortals. I find the lot of them idiots but dear Nick Fury is not nearly that stupid," Loki quipped. While the words were sarcastic and dismissive, there was a level of seriousness that he couldn't quite keep out of his voice. He could joke all he wanted but that didn't change the truth of the matter: that he was a prisoner, that the entire situation was out of his control, that he'd probably never set foot on his own again. It was a sobering thought and one he hadn't wanted to dwell on.

The doctor's eyes shadowed with his tone and he looked away.

"I've really…I've really damned myself, haven't I?"

He could taste sugar on his tongue and smoke in his throat and he closed his eyes to try and stave off the burn.

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><p>Caroline Moran was used to using a webcam to skype family and friends, but never had it been used to stay in regular contact with the head of a government agency bent on keeping the planet from somehow exploding. It was the curse of having heroes, she decided. Get some heroes and suddenly, supervillains just start coming out of the woodwork. Or maybe it was in reverse. She and anyone else who liked paying attention had certainly seen enough rookies of both factions get a thorough trouncing at one point or another.<p>

She waited until the yellow light on her camera flipped on. There would be at least twenty seconds of seeing nothing but her disembodied head on the screen until Nick Fury decided that he might deign to speak with her despite his insistence on daily updates. Idly, she wondered what would happen if one evening, she decided to make him wait for once.

His standard glaring face popped up in her head and Doctor Moran scowled.

As satisfying as it might be, better not.

The camera on the other end flipped on.

"Hello, Sergeant Fury. How are you this evening?" she greeted, voice pleasant. Fury-on-the-screen grumbled at her and returned the greeting with a nod. God forbid he actually say hello like a normal person. Even Loki at his most tumultuous usually had the courtesy to—

Oh, never mind.

_Pick your battles, Caroline,_ she thought and firmed her shoulders to look the director of SHIELD straight in the eye, _You're gunning for a hell of a battle as it is._

"What would it take to get Loki some fresh air?"

She'd never been able to throw him for a loop before but it wasn't a second before Fury was sputtering in some strange combination of shocked, horrified, and impressed.

"I respect you, lady, really. I do," he said finally, adjusting the camera on his end, "But are you as crazy as your patient?"

Caroline scowled and began to polish her glasses.

"Loki's not crazy. He's a lot of things but crazy isn't one of them."

"Please, just send over the overview and get back to what you were doing. It's out of my hands."

Oh. Oh ho ho ho ho. No.

There were people who would say that Caroline Moran was nuts for treating Loki. Completely around the bend, through the loop, out of the park cray-cray. But crazy or otherwise, she was one thing that had always served her for better or worse:

She was about as persistent and tenacious as a cockroach infestation in New York.

There was a certain amount of pleasure to be had from hashing it out properly with someone, different from a session, where it was her job to lead and follow and tread the twisting roads of the emotions and psyche with every ounce of care she possessed. This…oh. She would enjoy this.

"Pardon my French, but bullshit."

For at least thirty seconds Nick Fury stared at her, as if completely flabbergasted that not only did he just get told by a therapist, but a therapist whose hair grew like a trufula tree and who half looked like she didn't know how to not smile.

Oh, she would enjoy this indeed.

"Do I really have to remind you that he's not some innocent duckling who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Fury demanded, "He's a criminal, he's dangerous, and it's my job to keep the people safe. Besides, my impression is that Asgard wants his head on a pike. If they weren't leaving Thor in charge of the situation...well. We'd either have a dead planet or a couple of dead gods on our hands."

"Sergeant Fury...to repeat your words, I do respect you. And I think you do your job very well in most respects." Caroline said delicately, leaning forward and lacing her hands together after setting her glasses back atop her head, "But have you really forgotten? Loki hasn't actually killed anyone here, not any humans. Aside from some major property damage –as much of which is caused by your own team as by Loki- and embarrassment on your part, you don't even have anything on him aside from the charges that Asgard is laying on him."

"Are you denying that he committed those crimes?"

Silence for a breath.

"Not at all; he's admitted to them himself. But you're charging him for things he hasn't done to _you_."

Fury sighed and rubbed his temples as if a staving off a headache. Actually, he probably was.

"Look. At this point, it's keeping him in our custody, locking him up sixty stories underground, or sending him gift-wrapped to Odin to deal with. You wanna pick one of the other options?"

"..."

"This is what's keeping everyone safe. Hell, I'm even including _him_ in that. You think I want some crazy Norse war going on down here on my planet? Hell no I don't. That guy is pretty much the definition diplomatic brouhahas and I am doing the best I can. Quit makin' my job harder. As long as he's under wraps and Thor's got it handled, everyone lives. What more do you want from me?"

Yeah, about that.

Caroline shifted in the chair and straightened up to make herself taller. It didn't quite have the same effect as it would have in person, but it was the thought that counted, right?

"And I appreciate what you're doing. But if you're not classifying him as a prisoner of SHIELD, then you don't have the authority to treat him as one. I'm not asking for you to release him; I know which battles to fight. But what would it take to let him get some fresh air? He's going stir crazy."

"God, you're a pain in the ass. Why'd I let myself get talked into bringing you here?"

"Because you're not an idiot."

Stalemate. Nick Fury stared at her as if he'd never seen anything like her before and she stared right back, unflinching. She was patient; she'd once waited the time span of a whole session for Loki to say one quiet, broken word. She could afford to wait.

"Well, now I see how you went eight months without getting your head ripped off; you're ballsy as hell." Fury glared at her through the camera, his single eye showing naught but aggravation and what appeared to be a sort of long-suffering resignation. "Best I can do is the boundary of the property, extend the reach of the magical restraints-"

"They're on the property and not on him?" She asked quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

"According to Thor, the only thing that can remove magic from someone are runes carved into the skin and the magic user usually loses whatever grasp on reality they had to start with. Something to do with the magic being wired into every aspect of the sorcerer: mind, body, and soul. Apparently, execution is a kinder option. He refused to do it or cooperate at all until it was off the table entirely. Stark's got the whole house rigged to the gills with the suppressors right now and they feed into what's around his neck."

"But you'll let him go outside?"

"Only under supervision. Two pairs of eyes, lady. That better be enough for you 'cause that's all the leeway you're getting."

It would have to do, Doctor Moran decided and said so, unable to keep from relishing the eyeroll she received in reply because really, how often was she going to be able to hold her own against the commander of SHIELD? Really? It was a good feeling. She only had power as long as he let her have it but for what she needed?

It was more than enough.

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><p>AN2: Thank you very much for all the feedback on the last chapter! I sincerely hope that you enjoy this one as well. If you have anything at all to say, please leave me a review.<p> 


	21. Bismuth

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Twenty-One: Bismuth<p>

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><p>Loki had hoped, maybe, that a decent night's sleep (drunken and relatively unpleasant though it was) might have made it easier. At the very least, that it might have quelled some of the anxiety and strife that bubbled up inside him the moment the lights went off and he rolled over to try and get some rest. There it was, though, the cold knot in the pit of his stomach roiled and it felt like his insides were being eaten by rats, rats that never seemed to get their fill nor tire nor ever die.<p>

It was a familiar feeling and had once been comforting in its consistency.

Once, Loki had been able to treat it as merely another part of who he was, someone plagued with anxiety from the cradle by words and actions that others around him had treated as normal, someone who knew when it was best to not eat for fear of his stomach rebelling, someone who didn't remember exactly what it felt like to not be stressed out about something. It was just how it was because that was just who Loki was and no manner of change had been able to help. He'd remained a tense, easily upset little boy who'd grown into a tense, reclusive man who would eventually self-destruct.

Nothing had changed, nothing would change.

Except that at some point… something _had_.

Loki remembered being able to sleep in his apartment, if not necessarily well, but relatively easily. He remembered nights that instead of consisting of hours and hours of dusty tomes and tiny text and staring at his ceiling had instead been filled with corked bottles and the thrice-damned cricket that sat on the porch and chirped at ungodly hours, hot tea and stretching that soothed him instead of winding him tighter.

He remembered cool night air and pepperoni pizza at four in the morning and realizing that in New York, it was possible to find a great-fitting jacket no matter what time it was.

Blindly, Loki reached out an arm to brush the side table until he curled his fingers around the bottle of chamomile oil that Thor had brought with him along with his clothes. He didn't have to look at it to remove the cork and it was with a sigh that he brought it to his nose and breathed deeply to let the scent fill his head, replacing the snow and darkness and the need to hear something break with quiet and moonlight and the bright sunshine of summer, before it got swelteringly hot and when all the fields were blooming.

Loki had always been able to appreciate beauty when he saw it. It wasn't always in the curve of a woman's hips and limbs or the make of her clothing or in a painting or sculpture. Sometimes, it was simply in being, or a sweetness in the wind that would otherwise be taken for granted, or in the satisfying snap of sugar on his teeth.

This wasn't working.

Sluggishly, Loki dragged himself out of bed and into the living room, collapsing bonelessly onto the sofa with an inaudible sigh.

When had he gotten so _tired_?

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><p>Steve was in the process of burning his panini when Loki entered the kitchen, dressed in dark green skinnies and a surprisingly relaxed black t-shirt. Green eyes had shot from Steve to the smoking sandwich press then back to Steve again.<p>

He sighed as if he wasn't even surprised anymore.

"I can't take this," the dark-haired man muttered under his breath, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as if to fend off a potential headache. "I really can't. You choose a setting and press a button. What is so hard?"

Steve shrugged, only to have Loki sigh again and shove him over courtesy of an elbow threateningly close to his ribs.

"Out of the way, Rogers," he ordered, pulling open the press and scraping the charcoaled remains of what had started off as a roast beef and provolone, "Really, I don't understand how any of you even live past the week if you can't even feed yourselves. At least Thor had the excuse of nannies and more nannies and then the liquid mead diet that even he could procure for himself…" Loki peeled off the top slice of blackened bread and took a look. Steve might have said something to defend himself if he hadn't been rendered useless with shock at the sight of Loki wandering around the kitchen as easily as if it was his own, removing more bread and meat and cheese and mustard and making a sandwich of his own, this time with one extra.

The fact that the entire while he was grumbling under to his breath to himself about how they were all infants and how in Valhalla had they gotten past childhood didn't help the matter.

At all.

The answer these days was take-out, a _lot_ of take-out, because everyone knew that Tony could only make omelets and other egg-related dishes and to not let Thor near a heating element of any kind, Steve was nigh useless with anything other than a standard oven and Clint was keeping any knowledge he possessed to himself. And god only help you if you so much as asked Natasha because the last time Thor had asked (in retrospect he really ought to have thought _You are a woman and therefore must be versed in the culinary arts_ through a little better, even to Steve's sensibilities), she'd tossed him a cabbage and a carrot and informed him that she hoped he'd choke on them.

That had been the last time, really. Personally, Steve preferred to keep burning things than go through that.

The lid of the press came down and Loki made a show of very slowly and deliberately choosing a setting and pressing the on button, making sure to meet Steve's eyes the entire time.

Smug, insufferable asshole.

But nevertheless a smug, insufferable asshole who was either annoyed or exasperated enough to make an extra sandwich without even being asked. If Steve had ever once doubted that growing up, Loki had been the responsible one who apparently ought to have been awarded a medal for keeping Thor alive this long, this would have sealed the deal for him. The attitude, the eye-rolling, the perfectly articulated, quiet words meant to be heard but not shouted... they all screamed that no, this wasn't any sort of new experience and yes, Loki was accordingly used to it.

It wasn't until Loki turned to him and snipped at him to quit hovering and make himself useful by getting plates or quit hovering and _sit down, damnit_ that Steve realized that he'd been staring.

He did get the plates but sat down at the table in the end, figuring that out of all of them, Loki could probably handle a sandwich press if the way he was keeping a critical eye on it was any indication. For a little bit he just sat and watched, wondering when Loki had gotten so used to the kitchen, only to realize belatedly that he'd been taking care of himself this whole time anyway. It was no wonder, now that he thought about it.

"Hey," Steve spoke up when the silence got too heavy, "Question for you."

"Hmm?" Loki asked distractedly.

"How much older than you is Thor?"

Loki stilled entirely and cocked his head, looking for all of the world as if that was the absolute last thing he'd expected to be asked.

"Unless I'm mistaken and I rarely am-"

Steve snorted.

"Thor is approximately two-hundred-and-seventy-three years my senior. And a few months."

Steve stared at him blankly and Loki fought the urge to slap his palm to his forehead.

"In Midgardian terms, that equates to a difference of about three, four years for you. Not enough for the different play group, mind, but too many to escape," Loki continued, voice dry and almost amused. The press didn't buzz but he suddenly turned around and lifted the lid to slide off two perfectly toasted panini. "A word of advice, Rogers. This machine's crap and if you wait for the buzzer to go off, you'll be too late. Take them out about a minute before you think they're done."

Steve crunched through bread and soft meat and melted cheese and figured that he'd dance a hula if he had to if that meant that he never burned another sandwich again.

Surprisingly, Loki sat down at the other end of the table and took a bite, chewing with contemplation. Finally, he spoke.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you ask?" Loki elaborated. Steve shrugged.

"I dunno, you're just…you act like you're used to taking care of people. Like, you grouch and crank about it but you still do it, even if you don't have to. Trust me, in this house? It's everyone for themselves in the kitchen." And if that wasn't the most absolutely flummoxed Steve thought Loki had ever looked, he didn't even know. For a few seconds, that increasingly familiar stare that made Steve feel like there was nothing to him hidden was fixed on him, and finally, the sides of Loki's lips quirked upwards. He was all angles, long and sharp and unerringly deadly but somehow the smile softened him just a little. Steve couldn't help smiling back.

"Let me tell you a story," the dark-haired man informed him in between bites, "It's to my advantage too because I'll be making sure that Thor knows that you know and he'll be so embarrassed. He doesn't like to think about it, you see."

"If it's that embarrassing, then maybe you shouldn't tell me—"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Loki told him loftily, "It shall only be his pride to sting. You'll enjoy it, I promise. And really, it's harmless." He dangled the last sentence tantalizingly until finally Steve took the bait and nodded, encouraging him to continue. "We were quite young then, even he about thirty years too young to so much as enter the training yards with a stick and extra padding. We had a nanny then to take care of our every whim. You'd think me to be the fussy one in terms of food, would you not?"

Steve have never really thought about it but once he did he admitted that if he had to guess, that was about what he would have assumed, and told him so. Loki smiled at him indulgently and continued.

"You'd have been right for the most part, I'll admit. Getting me to try new things was a veritable nightmare; glaring, sulking, the occasional and at that point accidental spell, it was awful until I realized that the only thing that really tasted like mud was mud." Loki scowled at nothing as if remembering something _very_ unpleasant, "Point is though, I liked what I liked and if people got desperate enough to stop fighting with me about it, they knew what I'd eat. Thor, on the other hand… some days he'd be a vacuum who'd consume everything in sight and some days, he'd decide that he liked nothing at all and not a thing in the Nine Realms would change his mind."

Suddenly, Steve realized the direction that this story might have been going and began to grin.

Harmless indeed.

Legitimately harmless and guaranteed to be funny as hell if the look of unholy glee on Loki's face was anything to go by and Steve had the sneaking suspicion that in this case, it most definitely was.

As if on cue, Loki waggled a brow at him and rested his chin in his hand on the table.

"Well, one day, Thor decided he'd made life too easy and that he was due to hate everything, that everything tasted awful, that everything tasted like broccoli, that even the grapes were going to poison him. The nannies, the cooks, even the Queen tried to get him to eat but he wasn't going to budge. Stubborn from the very beginning, you see. Screamed and hollered and kicked his feet and threw plates and I swear to you, it was _a scene._ The Allfather had meat in his hair and the Allmother had sauce all down her dress and it was an absolute wreck. There's Thor, throwing the mother of all tantrums on the floor and sitting at the table like a civilized creature was me, calmly eating and ignoring everyone. It was _embarrassing_."

Steve stifled a snicker because _oh_, he could picture it perfectly. He'd never met Thor and Loki's parents but the mental image, oh the mental image…it was beautiful and amazing. Loki apparently agreed with him because it looked as if it was everything he could do to hold back his own laughter. Something about that was also strangely beautiful. To see him this relaxed and amused due to something completely unrelated to making anyone unhappy or bad television…well. It was new and not at all unwelcome.

"So I'm sitting there, trying to read and not know any of them when Thor throws a bowl of tomato sauce right on my head. I must have been some vision of terrifying because for a few seconds, everything just _stops_," Loki recounted with relish, "Not only is it all over me but it's all over my clothes and worse than anything, my _book_. And Thor's staring at me like he has no idea what I'm going to do."

Oh, this was going to be good.

"So I put my book down and stand up and walk over to a fruit bowl and grab an apple, and walk over to where Thor's still sitting on the floor. I admit, it did briefly cross my mind to pelt him with it but I ended up shoving it into his mouth instead, and informed him (apparently quite calmly according to court stories) while holding him by the lapels that if he didn't sit down, shut up, and quit acting like a juvenile right that very second, that I would make it my personal mission to keep track of everything he ate. Ever. For the rest of his natural life. The most glorious part is that apparently, it was a horrifying enough threat to actually work."

And Steve lost it.

He wasn't sure whether it was the droll, matter-of-fact storytelling or the fact that he knew both of the main players but he burst into near hysterical laughter right there at the table, startling Loki into wide-eyed silence. It didn't matter that the other man was staring at him like he was a crazy person, Steve laughed until he had to wipe his eyes, until he couldn't breathe and his diaphragm hurt and he was sure that any second someone was going to come running in and be _very _confused.

Loki just watched him, a strange, pleased little smile playing on his face.

"That cemented it, then?" Steve asked when he could breathe again.

"Indeed. For a good, long while, I was the primary threat. _Thor, eat your vegetables or we're going to get Loki. Thor, stop playing with your food or we'll have to get your brother in here_," Loki mimicked, "I might have been offended if it hadn't been so _funny_."

And still was, apparently.

"The entire court of Asgard, cowed by a little boy, with the only viable threat being yours truly. It was glorious."

And then for a split second, Loki's voice stuttered and his face shut down and Steve remembered all too late that they weren't just two people sitting in the kitchen exchanging stories that anyone might have told with a few facts changed. Loki was a supervillain god with a boatload of issues and Steve was a guy from the 40s who'd been turned into a super soldier and then frozen for almost seventy years with plenty of issues of his own. That was a rather intense experience gap. And yet…Steve couldn't quite shake the feeling that at least for a little while, they were just two people sitting at the table, eating sandwiches, and telling embarrassing stories about their siblings.

He was surprised at how intense the desire was to keep it that way.

Steve's train of thought was derailed when he realized that once again, Loki was watching him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," the other man replied, "Just marveling at the way you eat like a horse."

"Well, if mythology's to be believed, you gave birth to one," Steve shot back before it dawned on him, seconds too late, that that might have actually been rather offensive. Until he noticed that Loki's disconcertingly intense stare had fled and he was staring in an entirely different fashion, eyes boggling and jaw slack. "Uh, sorry," he tried, "Forget I said anything—"

No such luck.

Steve was sure that Loki might actually throw something at him until he leaned forward with his hands flat on the surface of the table, looking for all the world that he'd just been told that the inside of Midgard was in all actuality made of cake.

"...wait, wait. You mortals _believe_ that?" There was something odd in his voice, like a sort of amazed horror.

"No reason not to."

"Thor and I made those up because we thought it'd be _funny_." Loki sputtered, properly scandalized, "Have you ever met me? Even after meeting me, you think that I would let myself get raped by a magic horse? That was Thor at his most depraved. Sleipnir is an intelligent creature and a valiant horse, but most definitely _not_ my child."

"Thor being ginger and the magic goats?" Steve guessed, wracking his brain for all the Norse mythology he could remember. Now that he was thinking about it, a lot of those stories seemed…well. Like something twelve year olds might make up as payback on each other.

"Oh, that was definitely me."

"...Lokasenna?"

Loki examined his fingernails.

"I may or may not have indulged in a bit of childish tomfoolery that may or may not have gotten out of my hands. The bit with the entrails was a bit much, I think. Still, I can appreciate the drama of it."

"What about getting your lips sewn shut?"

"..." For a split second, Loki tensed and his response was a hairsbreadth delayed, just a heartbeat off, "Folly, of course."

And Steve thought, just for a moment before he forced himself to not dwell on it, that out of all of them, that one might have had an uncomfortable bit of truth to it. He'd think about it later, definitely. Might ask Thor about it and judge _his_ reaction to see, but that was something for another time.

"I wish I had a sibling to tell stories about."

"Thor's not actually my—"

"Don't give me that crap," Steve shot back, furrowing his eyebrows. "Just…don't. Not after a story like that. You're either oblivious or purposefully obtuse and I'd like to keep thinking you're pretty smart."

"And _you_ are either very brave or very foolish."

"Honestly? At this point, I think I'll take my chances."

And Steve might have been mistaken, it might have been a trick of the light or his brain making him see things that weren't there, but in the silence that followed, he could have sworn that Loki looked rather pleased at the idea.

* * *

><p>"We've done word associations before, yes?" Doctor Moran asked from her chair, watching Loki. He'd migrated from sitting on the bed to sitting cross-legged on the floor, spine as straight as if someone had inserted a steel rod into it. The position was a little too relaxed and purposeful to be accidental and he breathed deeply in response to her question.<p>

From the outside, in and out, steady as the tides, still as the waters that lay silent and cold in deep sea caves.

Inside, he was roiling with activity.

"We have, yes," he finally answered, "Unsuccessfully, but yes."

He remembered the aforementioned word associations quite well, actually. More importantly, he remembered how much he'd despised them and how he'd ended up shutting down completely not even halfway through. Holding words back had eventually led to faking them, to not saying anything at all, to becoming more frustrated than should be possible.

He'd hoped to see the last of them but clearly, it was not to be.

"I suppose it's a little pointless for me to request we not do them?" he asked, receiving a smile in return.

"Loki, you know full well that I can't force you into anything. If you don't want to do it, there's nothing in this world that I can do to make you. I don't _want_ to make you. All I'd like is for you to try your best and if it gets to be too much like last time, we'll stop and talk about something else. Alright? You have the power here; my job is simply to light the way."

Loki breathed and finally graced her with a nod, her words mollifying him and soothing ruffled feathers before they happened, the way few things could.

It was the last bit that did it, he knew.

There was no magic here, no spells. No coercion or threats and Loki knew, _knew_, that he held the power that he needed. The power to speak or the power of silence, Doctor Moran couldn't take that from him.

More importantly, she _wouldn't_, and that more than anything was what helped to quell some of the panic that threatened to scrabble its way to the surface.

"Okay," he breathed, staying where he was on the floor, "Let's do this, then."

The doctor smiled at him and in order to meet his eyes more easily, slid off of her chair and settled on the floor as well, crossing her legs.

"Comfy?" she asked, and pantomimed overstretching and throwing out her back. Dramatic and possibly a bit silly, but it drew a shy, tentative smile from Loki. If it could make him smile, the silliness was more than worth it. The man nodded again.

"Quite."

"Alright then," she replied, "Griffin,"

"Fletching," the reply came back instantly and Loki had to force himself to not think about what he was saying, forcing down those barriers that screamed at him to keep it all to himself, _keep it all_. That was the hardest part because it was a conscious effort to not restrain his mouth. He knew where the mention of griffins had come from, quite clearly from months back. Loki remembered those feathers and remembered how true they'd flown, a bright, fearless shot.

He could do it too.

"Fear."

"Snow."

The word slipped out of him before he could stop it, in fact, even before he could remember that he wasn't supposed to hold them back.

"Tree."

"Pathways."

That was an easy one, Loki thought belatedly. He was intimately familiar with Yggdrasil's branches and twining vines, all the little places to slip into, where to hold back and where to press forward. Where the shadows were darkest and where he could start to smell sunshine. His answer received no more than a pleasantly placid look from his doctor and Loki shrugged. He'd make no excuses nor would he apologize for being cryptic and better yet, she wouldn't ask him to.

"Sleep."

"Insufficient."

That warranted an extra note being put down in Doctor Moran's notebook apparently, judging by the way she spent more time writing than before. Inwardly, Loki groaned. He had no doubts that at some point, they'd be talking about _those_ little issues and he wasn't looking forward to it. He pulled a face and the woman across from him smiled knowingly, tsking a little between her teeth.

"Bright."

"Blind."

The word tore itself from his throat and Loki hated it instantly because he knew exactly what it meant even if it was abstract, metaphorical, and painful in the all the ways he hated most. Asgard, Thor…bright things made him hurt. The shadows were worse.

"Touch."

"Hands."

Loki instantly thought of what seemed like so very long ago, of walking into a polished salon and holding out his hands, feeling unflinching fingers on his and a kind of smothering that he didn't mind in broken English and chiding advice. Norns, it had been _far_ too long. Phantom hands ghosted over his skin and joints and Loki shivered.

And then for a second, Doctor Moran looked just the tiniest bit nervous. Someone who lacked the kind of observational skill that Loki had honed would never have noticed it but she twitched and clenched her jaw before the next word came out.

"Loki."

No.

Loki choked it all back, breath stuttering in his heart and in his head. His calm had fled and he was left trembling on the floor through the effort of not choosing because somehow along the line, _somehow, somehow_, Caroline Moran had become someone he wanted to please. And he couldn't do this.

"Loki…" he flinched and she continued, "Loki, please. This is hard. I know it's hard. It's supposed to be hard. Please."

"No."

Silence reigned until, finally,

"Alright. Do you want to stop? This is your power, Loki. You can always, always say no to me if it's too much."

"…monster."

The word came out in a whisper, a hiss of air against a blank backdrop, a stain on a white silence. Loki watched, morbidly transfixed and curious as to what was going to happen next? Would she look horrified? Angry? Hurt? Would she be upset that despite everything, despite that he was doing his best to give her the honesty she needed from him, that she hadn't fixed him? That months of treatment couldn't erase the bone-deep belief that he was disgusting?

Would she finally realize what everyone else knew, that there was something wrong in him?

Would she leave and walk out the door, letting everyone say _I told you so_ all along the way?

Doctor Moran reached out a hand and wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing firmly. Not hard, not like she wanted to hold him still, just… holding. Loki tensed for a moment before realizing that that was truly all she was going to do and relaxing. Phantom hands solidified and turned real.

Maybe a little too real.

Still, it wasn't…objectionable.

"What do you want to do?" she asked with another squeeze. Loki steadied himself and adjusted his posture, accounting this time for an unfamiliar hand in his personal space. He could break the grip if he wanted, he knew that much. He could. He really could.

"I can continue," he said eventually, keeping his voice forcibly even.

It was a dare, almost. Would she dare to push him? Dare to give him his way? Dare to let him make the decisions?

"Okay," she told him, "I'm so proud of you." Before he could respond properly, she continued with, "Alcohol."

Oh, _oh_, damn her. Why had he even told her about that in the first place, seriously? There had to be a rule about that somewhere.

"Stark," Loki informed her with a frown. "You'd certainly better not be making fun of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, wouldn't dream of it." Doctor Moran's voice said otherwise, tinged with laughter that coming from anyone else might have made him bristle. But if that was her objective, she had much better ammunition than some drunken escapades and they both knew it. "Mirror."

"Heart."

"Frustration."

"The inability of everyone in this cursed house to so much as press a button on a kitchen appliance."

Okay, so it wasn't quite a one-word answer. Whatever, it got the job done and gave Loki the leeway to smile the slightest bit because it didn't matter what was happening, he would never stop enjoying being better than someone at something. And it made Doctor Moran laugh outright, which didn't make him unhappy in the slightest.

"Love."

Loki froze. There was nothing to hold back because all of his words froze and withered in his lungs.

"…I changed my mind," he said after a moment of deliberation to pull himself together, "Can we stop?"

"Alright. You did very well. We'll try this again another time."

Loki breathed a sigh of relief. He was more relieved than he thought he'd be and even though he'd cut it short, the desperation and frenetic need to _get away, get away_ were suspiciously absent. Last time, it had been everything he could do to not bolt out the door. He wondered if it had more to do with him or with the warm hand still gripping his own.

He decided it didn't matter.

Letting out a deep breath, Loki pulled away and stretched. It was a needless motion; he'd essentially been stretching this whole time, but it made him feel better to do it. Productive or something. Like he hadn't been sitting on the floor this whole time getting his subconscious picked.

"I do have some news for you, though," Doctor Moran said, stretching because she did need it, "I talked to Nick Fury and he said that he'd have Tony extend the wards farther than the house."

Loki didn't quite follow and it showed on his face.

"You can go outside. Just to the grounds and the beach, but it's more than now—"

Doctor Moran trailed off when the words visibly dawned on the man in front of her. His tensed jaw relaxed and his eyes went wide and so very green and all of a sudden, he looked more like a flabbergasted college kid than the two thousand or so years she guessed he was. The surprise and dawning delight made him look so much younger than the anger or despair.

The newborn happiness was tentative at first until Loki realized that she was completely serious, even though she made a criss-crossing motion against her chest anyway just to prove a point.

"It should be done by tomorrow. Starting then, as long as you have two people with you, you're free to leave the house as you please."

Loki was fighting the sudden and altogether shocking urge to throw his arms around her. He didn't notice when he'd begun to laugh, a beaming grin beginning to stretch across his features like it belonged there.

Doctor Caroline Moran thought that seeing such an honest, bright smile start to form on Loki's face would turn her world upside down. Instead, it felt like a congratulations, a job well done, fingers lacing in hers and finding the last gift on Christmas that somehow ended up behind the couch.

God of mischief, indeed.

The smile suited him so.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for all the feedback on the last chapter! I really appreciate it. As always if you have anything to say, please leave it to me in a review, I love to hear what everyone thinks about my work!<p> 


	22. Slate

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry, short one this time! The next chapter will be longer, I promise. This is the shortest one to date and I am ridiculously sorry for that, I just kind of wanted this bit to stand on its own.<p>

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Two: Slate<p>

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><p>It wasn't so much that Loki had been avoiding Thor since they'd spoken and he'd had what he couldn't deny was anything short of a complete meltdown. Really, he wasn't. The notion was ridiculous, especially considering that it had been little more than two days since.<p>

It was simply that…well.

He didn't exactly know what to say to him, or how to act.

They'd been doing the same dance for so long, the same pain and the same anger, that now that some of it had dissipated, Loki wasn't entirely sure what to do with what was left. Thor didn't appear to possess the same confusion, though he did look as if he wanted to say something more when he'd nearly bowled him over in the hallway, reaching out as if it was easy and scrubbing a hand through Loki's hair.

Frankly, Loki was grateful for the time to himself, if only to gather his thoughts and figure out what he wanted to do with this.

Enough was enough, though.

It was getting to the point that the not knowing was making him antsy and it was time to do something about it. The question was, what?

As it turned out, the answer to that question was simple.

Thor possessed an unholy love for waffles and, surprise of all surprises, had been tested and found worthy of using the toaster (after, if Rogers was to be believed, attempting to speed up the process with Mjolnir and consequently making the next three toasters explode). So Loki did what apparently was the best way to start a conversation with anyone in this house and parked himself at the table across from the other man the next morning, waggling his fingers at him when Thor's mouth dropped open and he nearly lost the piece of waffle he was chewing.

"Good morning."

"Ghmjksnj mnnng."

"Chewing is lovely, do so before you speak," Loki chided, the litany falling from his lips like a habit he'd forgotten he'd had. Thor frowned at him (possibly it was just as familiar to him as well) but chewed until his mouth was empty.

"Happy?" he grumbled.

"Oh, quite. I'd forgotten how much I'd loved seeing your breakfasts in the morning. The nostalgia is overwhelming."

"Be quiet. What do you eat in the mornings anyway, leaves?"

Oh, this was _far_ too familiar.

"It's called _salad_, and it's good for you," Loki grumbled in reply, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out or something equally juvenile, "And no, I don't."

"…what _do_ you eat in the mornings?" Thor asked suddenly. His blue eyes were bright and Loki wondered if that was simply a question or whether there was more to it than it seemed. Loki ducked his head and let his hair fall into his face, a dark, protective curtain that meant he didn't have to look Thor in the eyes.

"Lots of things," he answered finally, "Cereal. Pancakes, sometimes. Eggs and bacon. Coffee."

"Do you eat waffles?"

"You offering?" Loki shot back, voice sharper than he intended. Far from flinching, Thor just watched. When had he become so steady?

"Yes."

The answer came without embarrassment or shame or any of the 'dithering, womanly feelings' that might have been there before and for a second, Loki was entirely thrown. But Thor was still watching him and he'd yet to give any sort of answer. There was _definitely_ more to this question than there seemed to be. Still, there was really only one sort of answer he could give.

"…okay," Loki said quietly and Thor got up.

The role-reversal was strange and uncomfortable and he had to fight to stay seated, to not say anything when Thor still fumbled a little with the lever (though he thought that had more to do with restraining his strength than anything else), to sit still and simply wait. It wasn't in his nature to wait, not like this. He was patient, yes, restrained, yes. He could wait years for something he knew was coming. But this was different.

This was waiting _for_ someone and he wasn't used to that.

The waffles were more done than he preferred when the plate was set in front of him and it would have been so easy to ruin everything and say something sharp and cutting. He didn't, though. Loki slathered the waffles with butter and syrup and was silent through the first bite, chewing thoughtfully. Thor watched him from across the table, an expression of hope and slight trepidation of his face.

"…thank you," Loki said about halfway through the first waffle, dabbing a touch of syrup off the side of his mouth.

"You are welcome," Thor replied solemnly, eyes unreadable and glittering with something Loki couldn't identify, "I would do it again, would you ask. Even if you wouldn't." They both knew that he was speaking for more than breakfast.

And Loki would never, ever ask, they both knew that too. Need, yes. Desire, possibly. But ask? Never.

Loki didn't know what to do with the feeling pulsing through his veins, heady and warm and almost pleased. If a feeling could purr, that was what it would likely be doing, contrary as a cat. Of course his feelings would be like cats, bloody cursed things.

To avoid speaking further, Loki took another ferocious bite.

Suddenly, there was movement from across the table and not two seconds later, he was being pulled into a crushing hug and blonde hair was tickling his nose.

"You idiot, I'm going to stab you with the business end of this fork—"

"Be still for just a bit," Thor muttered, voice muffled even when Loki threatened his side with the handle of his fork, "Just a brief moment, please."

Loki sighed and ducked his head in reluctant acquiescence before adjusting himself, shifting forward to hook his chin over Thor's shoulder and draping an arm around his waist. A large hand splayed out along his back and held him close and Thor's hold on him was firm, but gentle as if trying to hold something fragile together. Loki had no doubt that should he try, he'd be able to break it.

"Are you well?" he asked finally, bracing against the bulk that threatened to topple the both of them to the floor.

"No," Thor answered after some deliberation and a further squeeze of Loki's frame, "No, I really do not think that I am."

So Loki held back the question he had originally intended to ask in favor of dropping the fork to the table with a clatter and reaching out to hug him properly. He couldn't fathom what could possibly be going through Thor's mind to inspire this but he wasn't talking and that more than anything set Loki on edge. Thor never failed to express himself when he was angry or felt downsized or treated with some sort of perceived injustice. It was only when he really hurt or dealing with something internal that he kept it to himself, much like Loki in that particular regard.

So Loki did what the person inside him would have wanted in that position, that person who wasn't afraid to ask or do or admit when he couldn't make it all by himself, and gave Thor what he asked for.

His question could wait. Some things were simply more important.

* * *

><p>AN2: Thank you all again for reading! It seriously makes me so happy to know that people are enjoying this as much as I'm writing it. If you have anything at all to say, please leave me a review; I read and appreciate every one of them.<p> 


	23. Cobalt

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Twenty-Three: Cobalt<p>

* * *

><p>For a few brief moments, Loki couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was all a huge cosmic joke and he was right in the middle of it.<p>

Rogers and Stark were behind him (waiting for him to hurry up?) and Thor'd already pushed ahead of them all, an uninflated beach ball in his hands and a bucket in the other which he dropped to the ground, which may or may not have contained a shovel, a bottle of sunscreen, and a can of pre-mixed strawberry daiquiri just waiting to be mixed with some crushed ice. Loki stood in the threshold like a statue and blinked into the sunlight like it had been years, hands tense at his sides. Someone (Rogers, probably) reached out and gently tapped the small of his back.

"You okay?"

Definitely Rogers.

Loki stepped out and prepared himself for the jolt of agony that would indicate that this all was indeed a joke, but nothing came. The sun was warm on his face and reflected off of his hair and the bright, decorative cuffs around each of his wrists that Thor brought from his apartment, golden and ornate.

He wasn't wearing any shoes. The second he took the step off of the porch and onto the beach, his toes wiggled in the sand.

He then maintained his stoicism for approximately two and a quarter seconds before rolling up his pants and making a beeline for the water, ignoring Thor and his beach ball. Loki plunged into the sea just as a wave came up and drenched him entirely from head to toe, making him cough and sputter and then laugh hysterically because he's _outside_ and he kind of can't believe it and he doesn't even care that he's still under watch.

Steve had honestly never seen the guy this unashamedly pleased since the first day he'd laid eyes on him; not in this house and not even when all of his plans were going right, plans that usually led to Steve himself being thrown out a window.

He looked up just in time to see Thor finish blowing up the ball and chucking it in Loki's direction, bopping him solidly in the head with it. Loki jolted and whipped around, face already twisting into a scowl, but instead of attempting a blow, he sent a wave of water with a sweep of his arm on the surface, soaking Thor as well and making him spit from the salt.

"That wasn't fair," Thor complained loudly, only to be hit with another wave of seawater.

"You hit me in the head!" Loki bellowed in reply and waded out further. He'd apparently said goodbye to trying to keep any part of himself dry since the beginning and was now up to his waist in ocean. Thor shook a fist at him and Loki made a face that can only mean, in the words of the internet, 'come at me, bro'. Thor looked tempted, _so tempted_, but settled for scooping his ball and taking aim. "Do it, and I'll force-feed you a sea cucumber!"

"You cannot swim that far to get one!"

"Was that a challenge?"

Thor made a rude hand gesture and went in to his calves. He wasn't as comfortable in the water as his brother, who took to water and sky in ways that Thor could only envy, be it in the shape of a hawk or a porpoise, giving himself gills and fins or wings. Suddenly, he yelped and Loki couldn't help approaching, an expression of concern washing over his features.

"What is it?" he asked, only to be grabbed the moment he was in grabbing range and getting fingers, fingers that knew all of his soft spots, prodding into his ribs and making him holler and twist.

Thor laughed and in retaliation, Loki leaned down to pick up a generous handful of wet sand and began to rub it into the other man's hair.

"….you know, they're kind of cute when they're not trying to kill each other."

Steve choked and stared down at Tony, who had by this point plopped down in the sand. Steve brought towels but they were ignored. Of course they're ignored. Tony's only wearing a pair of six hundred dollar pants, why use a towel to protect them from getting damaged? He wore them like they're pajamas and half the time, Steve just wanted to strangle him for it.

Whatever. Tony's money, he could waste it however he pleased even though Steve would have preferred buying a nice bicycle instead.

"Well, Thor never was trying to kill Loki," Steve replied and sat down next to his friend. _He_ was wearing blue jeans like a sensible person, jeans that were ripped from actual wear instead of jeans ripped on purpose. Tony glanced over at him and cocked his head.

"And on that note, you could say that Loki was never really trying to kill Thor, either. Maybe get some rage out, but kill him? Man, with the way Thor leaves his back open around the guy, it'd be like shooting a whale in a goldfish bowl."

Steve couldn't resist the snort that came from his throat; the image is a funny one and perhaps a little too accurate for comfort.

"It makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Tony raised a brow.

"What does?"

"Well…how _exactly_ they got to that point. I mean, thousands of years are a really, _really_ long time," Steve remarked and flopped backwards onto the sand, spreading his arms out and preparing to make a sand angel. He _loved_ the beach. Tony thought on the comment and eventually just shrugged his shoulders.

"I think that's kind of the point, actually. Thousands of years are a long time, but thousands of years of _what_? Asgard being in love with the golden boy while Loki quietly loses his shit and no one notices? I'll tell you one thing, that makes a hell of a lot more sense than what some people'd have you believe. Neglect is a lot to easier for me to believe than a normal kid magically growing up to become a destructive psychopath." Tony went quiet and Steve followed his lead, simply watching the sky and the sea and two gods who were doing a very good impression of young children.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and when he opened them, Loki was standing there, casting a shadow over him and dripping everywhere. His arms were folded over his chest.

"Need somethin'?" Tony asked, and green eyes flicked to the bucket lying abandoned next to the two of them.

"I've never experienced peeling from sun exposure," the dark haired man commented, almost conversationally, "But I'm not going to start now. The moron over there thinks he's above it. I'm not." A smile tilting at his lips, Steve reached over and took the tube out of the bucket, handing it over to Loki. This was clearly a new thing, because when Loki unscrewed the cap and squirted some out into his hands, he grimaced at the texture. "…this is kind of disgusting, actually. I think I changed my mind."

"C'mere," Steve ordered, gesturing for Loki to kneel down while he sat up. Confusion written all over his face, Loki obeyed and Steve reached out to take most of the lotion out of his palm and onto his fingers. "Make sure you get your nose," he reached out and swiped the area with a finger as he spoke, enjoying Loki's expression of rather shocked horror, "Your forehead," Swipe- "And your cheeks." Swipe, swipe. "Don't forget your neck and shoulders either. Anywhere the sun hits is fair game—"

"Stop that!" Loki batted his hands away in protest but settled at the smile on Steve's face, genuine and with no trace of mockery. He grimaced and began to rub the lotion in on his face until the white smears were gone while Steve got his shoulders and barely got a chance to brush his throat before Loki was sidling away and scrambling to his feet. "Appreciated, Steve Rogers," he murmured lowly and proceeded to kick sand up to the Captain's calves. Then he was darting off back towards the ocean with a roared, "There's nothing you can do now, lobster king!" in the direction of his brother.

"_Definitely_ cute," Tony confirmed. Steve just popped open the bottle of sunscreen and began applying it to himself. If Loki could be responsible, so could he. "Hard to believe that he's on SHIELD's most wanted list."

"Hard to believe that he's on SHIELD's most wanted list and he hasn't even killed anyone. Here, at least," Steve corrected, surprised at how much truth his own words held. It was true, though. In Loki's file, there were multiple charges ranging from 'destruction of public property' to 'disturbing the peace' to a hastily scrawled (in Tony's handwriting) 'being a royal pain in the ass'. But nowhere in there was 'murder' or 'treason' or any of the things that Thor had mentioned more than once, meaning that SHIELD wasn't charging him on Asgard's claims. The thought, strange as it was, made Steve warm slightly with pride.

Nick Fury might have been a slave driver of a boss but he was _their_ slave driver of a boss and he gave in to no one, and Steve would defend that to the end.

"Well, let's just put it this way: Loki's not gonna be the one to kill you by accident. He might not be nice or straightforward, but at least you know that if you find yourself dying because of him, it's because he meant to do it. The only reason that he hasn't killed any civilians yet is because he doesn't _want_ to." Absently, Tony began piling dry sand up next to him, making little sand mountains that collapsed as soon as he took his hands away.

Steve frowned at him.

"The fact that you've thought about this is more than a little disturbing."

Tony shrugged with nonchalance.

"What? It's Loki; every possibility. Besides, you can't possibly tell me that you'd rather be shot in the neck thanks to bad aim than by someone who hits what he shoots. C'mon, you were a soldier."

"..."

"All I know is what I think, and I think that Loki hasn't tried to kill us yet. He's had plenty of opportunities too; he found where we stashed the knives the second day and we haven't restricted his access to the rest of the house. He doesn't need magic to be smart as hell. We all know better than to make the mistake of ever thinking he's stupid. For a guy who doesn't ever miss his mark, for us to still be alive and fine and not have to tie him up, even if he has an agenda? That says a lot."

"What are we doing? With him, I mean. He's not…" Steve paused for a breath, "He's not our prisoner, is he? Not really. Maybe on paper, but I don't remember the last time prisoners went to the beach. Or had free rein of the kitchen. Or got drunk and slept in your bed." Tony had the grace to flush a little but not much more than that. "So what are we doing?"

"Thing is," Tony began, looking uncomfortable, "The truth is that I'm not sure that anyone really, really knows."

"What do _you_ think ought to be done with him?" Steve insisted doggedly because this was _important._ Really important.

"This going on record?"

"What record?" The other man replied immediately, raising a brow.

"You are a beautiful man and far sneakier than anyone would ever give you credit for," Tony praised. Steve wondered if he should actually be as flattered as he was by the statement and decided that it was probably best to not think about it too hard. "I'd be an idiot to say he's harmless. Hell, Thor's not harmless. I'm not harmless either. But I don't think he means us harm. Not at this point. I could be crazy or stupid or just wrong, but—" Tony was cut off by Steve leaning sharply to the side, bumping his shoulder with his own. "What was that for?"

Steve didn't get a chance to answer because there was suddenly a dark-haired man at his side. Loki flopped to the ground between him and Tony and stretched out like a giant, lanky cat who found the biggest sunspot in the history of ever, sand sticking to wet skin and hair and fabric. He didn't seem to care all that much, surprising considering the level of scrutiny he normally gave to both his appearance and his conduct.

Steve supposed, though, that even people like Loki had to let go of it all sometimes.

And wasn't that surreal, now that he'd thought about it?

That was how it always went when you hit the crossroads: you either snap and start falling to pieces or you snap and say to hell with everyone else who'd ever told you no.

Steve had just never considered that Loki might be at that point.

Loki had always been a person but at the same time, there was a distance or a disassociation that separated him from someone like Thor, despite their clear connection. Maybe it was because it was easier to think that way when he had to fight him, because it was easier to think of him as someone who didn't think and feel as deeply as Steve himself did. Because it was harder to fight him when he had to realize that he got hurt and caused pain and did good as well, just as Steve did.

Green eyes locked on blue and it was as if Loki had, for the moment, forgotten how to do anything other than smile.

Steve smiled back and nudged him with a shoulder, just as he'd done to Tony not a few seconds ago.

Loki froze as if that had been the very last thing he'd been expecting, and then repeated the gesture without a word, letting his own bare, sandy skin brush up against Steve's like a cat. And then, also much like a cat, he scrambled to his feet and turned away. If Steve looked really hard at a particular angle, he could see pink that had nothing to do with sunburn creeping up the other man's cheeks. Embarrassed or unexpectedly shy?

"Are you two going to sit here and be boring for the entire day?" he demanded after a pause, jerking his head towards the waterline where Thor was bent over and tormenting coquinas. The words tumbled out of him like he'd been obsessing over them.

Steve exchanged the quickest of looks with Tony before he was hauling himself to stand.

"I know you're not implying I'm boring," he said dryly, noting the way Loki relaxed minutely. More familiar territory, that was, the dry needling.

"Only one way to find out."

And that was Steve's only warning before the red plastic bucket was dumped out and plunked on his head to slip down over his eyes. The handle hung around his chin and seconds later, Tony was roaring with laughter at him and Loki was ducking away out of reach, kicking sand all over creation.

Steve wasn't even close to complaining about it.

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><p>AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any comments you'd like me to see in a review; I read them all and take them into consideration.<p> 


	24. Beryl

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Four: Beryl<p>

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><p>Loki realizes that there are both benefits and disadvantages to possessing his particular breed of tunnel vision.<p>

On one hand, he's blessed with an enviable amount of dedication towards the things he desires and the tasks he sets himself to.

On the other, he's cursed with a terrifying amount of dedication towards the things he desires and the tasks he sets himself to.

This also leads him to forget that he's not actually the only supervillain in existence (though he's always been the best one), nor the only one who regularly causes havoc, nor have they all formed a little villain club (though if they had, he'd most certainly be the leader because he's never been very good at following orders).

Oh, Loki's worked with some of them before.

He'd say that he's worked with most of them but that implies that they're still alive to be counted. He's been stabbed in the back too many times to actually trust any of them but that doesn't mean that he can't honor a dishonorable partnership. He suspects that it's easier to work with him than it is to kill him, but it'd be so much less trouble if they'd just accept the fact that if he's going to die, it's not going to be by the hand of someone he sees as below him.

He's also not going to stand by while someone breaks his rules.

_You do not cause permanent harm to them_. _You do not act against them without my express permission._

Those have always been his rules because if he doesn't have his pet superheroes, who's he going to play with?

Loki's game, Loki's rules.

When rules get broken, someone pays, and Loki knows better than to trust the people who'd like to call themselves his associates. He could leave a glancing blow but they won't learn, not like a puppy who can learn from sharp words alone. He has to be quick, he has to be firm, and he can't ever, ever trust them. He's not that stupid. He's really, really not that stupid.

Doctor Doom has got to be _the_ most idiotic pseudonym he's ever heard in his life and Loki doesn't know who Victor thinks he's fooling with it. For someone who ought to be intelligent, he's actually a bit of a moron.

They can play their little games with the authorities and with each other, always trying to be better and richer and more evil, more destructive. Who can cause the most damage, who can kill the most people, who can commit the kind of atrocities that Loki doesn't waste time with because that's not what he wants.

Loki doesn't usually think about them all that much. They're not his friends and he doesn't want them to be, and that's only slightly because they'd all like very much to see him dead. Mostly it's because they're stupid and don't understand what he is. Not who, Loki doesn't care half a whit if they understand the who.

The what is the important part.

They think he's like them, that he's some insignificant little ant with magic powers and a pretty face, who wants money and glory just like they do. No, no. Money and glory are for those who don't understand ambition, who don't understand what matters.

People who fight for money and for glory…well. They'll never understand Loki and frankly, that's the way he likes it.

They're useful occasionally, but lately when he thinks about it, he finds himself wondering why he even bothered because it wasn't like he didn't have to babysit and hover over every little thing they did anyway. He might as well have done it all himself and saved himself the trouble.

He's not ashamed for thinking of them as tools.

That's part of why they'd like to kill him, but he knows full well that it's because they _know_ and yet refuse to understand or accept. That he's not like them, not ruled by their mortal desires or their mortal time. The differences set them apart like a valley to a mountain. It's not because they're mortals; it's because they're idiots.

Loki's fully capable of respecting others.

He just doesn't respect _them_. And they know it.

Dear Victor has been getting too big for his britches in Loki's absence.

Loki's sitting on the couch when it happens. The house is empty and it's surprisingly easy to hold an intelligent conversation with JARVIS as long as he doesn't touch upon the delicate subjects like security pass codes (pffffft, like he needs them) and escape routes. Rather, Loki's learned quite a lot about the people he's been in residing with.

Rogers hates shaving but he hates having scruff more. It comes from possessing a shaky hand as a youth and a much more dangerous razor, without the little things that make them easier to manage like plastic handles and moisturizing strips and the convenience of electric blades. He knows that those times are gone but every time he hesitates just for that second before the first swipe, wondering if this time he's going to cut himself again.

Thor has to be bullied into cutting his hair even a little bit these days. This isn't anything new; Loki remembers tantrums of epic proportions, of royal hairdressers quitting, and then later, the threat of Loki, which was about as effective as it was for food. Loki, who stood quietly and waited his turn and glared emerald daggers until things finally moved along. He'd have to do something about this because if the butler who happened to be a computer was offended by the state of Thor's split ends, there was simply no other option. Loki wonders if the threat is still valid when the threat is the one doing the cutting.

Barton doesn't ever, ever waste food. It's something that Loki's always noticed but never thought about long enough to bring attention to, nor does he think it's really any of his business. His reasons are his own and Loki doesn't care about them. Barton's mannerisms don't bother him. Loki doesn't like wasting food either, though his own reasons come from growing up in a place where tables of good food are routinely hurled across the room.

Loki's considering making a sandwich when the door slams open and suddenly, the house is rife with activity again.

The residents enter the main room and stop when they see Loki. Loki freezes like a statue in response, eyes flicking over each of them in turn.

The ends of Thor's hair are scorched black and he's agitated, prowling around the room like an aggravated cat. Rogers is cradling his arm. Barton seems relatively unharmed but if Loki looks carefully, he can tell that there's a dazed look in his eyes like he's been hit too hard and Romanoff sports a still sluggishly bleeding wound in her shoulder. Banner's nowhere to be seen (gathering supplies for treatment?) and Stark looks like he's had the same eye blacked twice along with a burn streaking along his cheek that's already beginning to shine and blister.

And Loki, unexpectedly, finds himself bubbling with a sudden rage that he hasn't felt in a long while.

It's not the one that freezes him down to his bones but the kind that makes him burn, the kind that reminds him why in some stories that neither he nor Thor had spread he's known as the god of fire.

Oh.

_Oh_.

He recognizes that pattern easily, can trace each injury back to a single source.

Victor has gotten _far_ too comfortable and Loki swears to fix that, swears to remind him when (if, if, if) he ever gets out of here just why it's best to follow Loki's rules and leave the loopholes to the one who invented them.

Loki stands and finds himself inexplicably approaching the lot of them, blood still rushing in his head, and he wants nothing more than face the agony that would come from escape because to spill Victor's blood would be worth it. He'd deserve nothing less.

Instead, Loki forces himself to calm –appear calm- and stretches out a hand to Rogers, reaching gently into the space between his chest and his injured arm to pry it away from him. The man flinches but doesn't resist. Smart man. Loki knows to keep his movements gentle and slow to lessen the pain, but he can't stop the pain that would come from undue resistance. Barton's watching him like a hawk, as if waiting for Loki to grow fangs or enact some evil plot, as if he's had something to do with this.

If Loki wasn't so focused, he might have laughed at the thought.

As it is, he's still fighting down the anger that means he loses his control and he can't spare any thought for that.

Green eyes snap with a fury that's belied by his hands, fingers running over the juncture of Steve's elbow, down his lower arm to press against his wrist, back up to examine the shoulder. He doesn't jerk or twist because he doesn't need to; it's not hard to figure out the problem. No strange slides, bumps; no bones sticking out where they shouldn't be. Cracks in the bone for certain, likely strained and overstretched muscles.

That the damage exists at all infuriates him in a way he can't even describe nor properly justify to himself.

"It'll heal quickly," Rogers offers with furrowed brows, as if that's what Loki's upset about, like he's not thinking _how dare he, how dare he, how dare he_, over and over inside his head. "It always does. The serum—"

"Will it heal within the next five minutes?" Loki asks shortly and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Thor raise an eyebrow as if in epiphany. Let him have whatever epiphany he thinks he's had, then.

Confused, Steve shakes his head.

"Then sit down and hold still so I can bandage it. Your excuse for a medic can only do so much at once. I am proficient with such things."

"No, really, it's fine—"

"_Sit_," Loki doesn't ask so much as he demands, no room for disobedience in his voice. He's rewarded by a shocked blue stare and Steve sits silently in the seat that Loki's just vacated. Loki, meanwhile, exits the room to grab a roll of stretchy bandaging. Thor brought most everything from his bathroom, Loki's sure that he brought along the jar of burn salve and the healing paste Loki had put together months ago too, likely unaware of what they were, though it was doubtful that he would have even checked—

Loki doesn't realize that he's been followed until a hand lands on his shoulder and he spins around, crackling with energy. The words die on his lips when he sees Thor behind him.

"You are upset by this."

It's not a question.

Loki remains silent when Thor reaches out and pulls his wrist into view. He sees his fingers tremble as if they don't belong to him.

"So it would seem," he replies after a long pause. It's useless to disagree, not when it's right there in front of his face.

"Why?" Thor asks. Loki hesitates because he doesn't know if Thor's actually asking or if he's playing some sort of game. He decides that right now, he doesn't care.

"I'm unsure," Loki bites out, "And if you have any sense of self preservation at all, you'll leave me be—"

"Calm yourself," Thor tells him gently in a way that somehow makes him even angrier and at the same time, makes something inside him tighten like an overwound spring, "No one is at risk. No one is going to—"

"Please, please, _shut up_," Loki orders tersely, "Just—stop." He doesn't need this, not when he's so angry and it's all he can do to not fly off the handle entirely. "Please, just let me do this the way I need to."

"Give yourself thirty seconds to _calm_. You are panicking."

Loki realizes that he's brushing his fingertips against burnt blonde strands and makes to pull away but warm fingers wrap around his and keep them there.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Loki asks and Thor shrugs in a way that Loki can't trust.

"I am relatively—"

"Are you or are you not hurt anywhere?" Loki needs to know, needs to take note of every scratch upon them, needs to know how much damage he needs to deal to pay this back in full, needs to know what he needs to treat, needs to know just how long he needs to make Victor regret what he's done.

"Just here." Thor pulls back a lock of his scorched hair and reveals a burn mark set deep into the back of his neck. Nothing that won't heal, nothing that will permanently damage, nothing that will linger, and yet Loki finds himself unwilling to let it all go. He _can't_. "Brother, I promise you, I am completely hale."

And Loki remembers his own hands in the hole in Thor's chest, his blood on his lips, and everything inside him burning and breaking to keep this person alive. The fear hits him all at once like a wave of ice and it quells the anger just slightly and he gives Thor another scrutinizing look over just to make sure.

"I would appreciate it greatly if you would look after it." That gentle tone is back but this time it loosens some of the knots in Loki's stomach that make him feel sick and bottomless. Loki doesn't know just how close he is until he's pulled, briefly and gently and in a manner that he resists for a moment out of habit, into a hug that presses his nose into Thor's shoulder. Loki allows it for the time he needs, breathing deeply until the room doesn't feel quite so small.

That settled, he pulls away and begins rummaging through drawers, finding the things he needs and bundling them up into his arms. Loki hands a glass jar of white cream flecked with blue and green to Thor.

"Hold on to that," he orders, turning on a heel and heading back the way he came.

He's still furious in every way he can name but the frantic pounding has lessened, and when he re-enters the living room, Banner's already returned and is examining Natasha's shoulder, not with the eye of a doctor but someone who simply knows what needs to get done until something else happens. Barton's holding his head a little but he's clearly already been examined and found intact.

"Catch."

Loki doesn't wait for a response before throwing another jar in the general direction. Banner fumbles with it and unscrews the lid, examining the contents with a questioning eye.

"The hell is this stuff?" he asks, looking like he wants nothing more than to swirl it around with a finger. "Looks like pesto."

"It will speed the healing and help stave off infection. Don't be stingy with it," Loki answers distractedly and doesn't notice when Thor, still trailing after him, confirms his words with a nod before the other man will so much as touch it. He's already focused again; Steve's where he left him, watching like he's never seen Loki in his life. It requires little thought or effort to bandage the arm. He tries to keep his touch as easy as he can but it's impossible to avoid some pain when he has to shift the strained muscles and cracked bone to a position that, should the natural healing go awry, the arm won't need to be broken in order to fix the damage.

They're both silent through the whole process and no one even bothers to keep from staring but when Loki finishes, Steve smiles at him and gingerly flexes the limb.

"Thank you."

Something in Loki's stomach thaws and some of the tension thins out around his eyes.

No one has died.

Victor will count his few blessings for that while he has the time to do so, Loki will make sure of it.

"You now, sit," Loki gestures with a hand and Thor seats himself on the couch without protest, handing the jar back to Loki and pulling his hair to expose his neck.

"Do what you will." Thor's normal rumble is low as if he's still trying not to startle. Loki resists the urge to snort and dips his finger into the burn salve, feeling the normal, cold tingle begin to run up his hand just as it should. He applies it to the burn in a thick layer and Thor shivers at the sudden chill that the touch brings, expected and yet still somehow surprising.

Loki knows the feeling well; burns are common and the salve is a beginner's test, one of the first things a young mage or healer or herbalist or warrior learns. The basics of medical care are de rigueur lest the palace healers be swamped with every small scrape or injury. Thor could treat himself, he's fully capable, but he's more likely to leave it be entirely than take the extra time and Loki's of the camp that if one wants something done correctly, it ought to be done by him.

That done, Loki turns the jar idly in his hands and casts a green, narrow side-eye to his left in the direction of Stark.

"This would help," he suggests with a raised eyebrow and watched Tony's eyes flick from his face to the jar in his hands to Thor, who's in the process of actually tying his hair away from his face to keep it from sticking in the salve. "It's simple enough to use that you can apply it yourself if you would prefer. It's good for—" Loki's voice catches when he looks over and sees the intensity with which he's being watched, "It's good for numbing the pain and accelerating the healing process."

He fully expects Stark to refuse or at the very least, send the lot of it through a vigorous round of testing before so much as sniffing it.

Loki hasn't taken into consideration, though, that they've all just watched Thor sit calmly and quite willingly through it with little more than a shiver of cold and so much as a blink of concern. It's one thing to set and bandage an arm, Loki realizes, and another to allow someone (a rather untrustworthy someone at that) to put an unknown substance on one's skin. But Thor didn't explode and in fact looked to be feeling better already.

Loki's still surprised when Tony shrugs and approaches. He doesn't hold out his hands but instead stands and waits. Loki worries his lower lip between his teeth.

"This will be cold," he remembers to warn just a second before dipping his fingers in and scooping up a generous amount to spread carefully onto the other man's cheek. Instantly, he flinches and lets out a hiss between his teeth.

"Holy shit, no kidding," It looks like it's everything Tony can do to keep from wiping it off and to hell with the pain. Loki's unsure as to whether he's prepared to let him.

"Give it a moment and it'll start to—there it is."

The sharp cold wears off and the numbness kicks in. Tony relaxes almost instantly.

"Sweet merciful God, that is a beautiful thing," he praises, and Loki hates the rustle of pride he gets in response. "Cold as balls but this is _awesome_, I can't feel my face."

"That is rather the point," Loki finishes without fanfare and pockets the jar. A hand brushes along his shoulder and Loki doesn't have to look to know who it is. Throughout his life, only Thor has ever touched him so effortlessly. "Yes?" Loki tries not to see the careful stripe of white that stands out stark against the tanned skin of his neck. It reminds him that, while they are not excessively fragile, they are fully capable of being harmed. Once more, he remembers a river of blood and ice and tears freezing on his face and the knowledge that had Thor perished, Loki would have broken the world.

It just makes him angry all over again.

"I haven't thanked you yet."

"Careful, Thor. Your friends might think you care."

"I think you're more worried that _you_ care," Thor points out, and it's the most ridiculous statement that Loki's ever heard.

That doesn't explain why he finds himself turning on a heel and slipping out the door, his heart feeling like it's about to beat right out of his chest.

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><p>AN: Thank you all for reading! Please leave a review if you have any comments, concerns, questions, or even excessive praise~<p> 


	25. Tanzanite

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Love me, you happy kids get a quick update~<p>

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Five: Tanzanite<p>

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><p>"Hello, Loki."<p>

At the familiar greeting, Loki opened his eyes to see Doctor Moran standing over him, casting a cool shadow in the afternoon sun. He blinked up at her but didn't bother getting up from where he lay, lazily sprawled out in the sand. He raised a hand and waved, though.

"Hello, Doctor. How are you today?"

"I'm just fine, thank you. Enjoying yourself?" She asked. She'd shed her coat before coming outside but sweat was already beading on her forehead; California was nice, but good lord was it warmer than she was used to. Loki was sweating too but he looked like he was enjoying it and she longed to ask him how that worked after having done some research (how much of it was actually true remained to be seen).

Loki shrugged and shot her a funny look.

"You have a question," he didn't ask, "I can see it on your face."

"Can't get one over on you, can I?" she asked with a smile and pulled a scrunchie out of her pocket to tie her hair up off of her neck. Much better. "I was simply curious as to how the heat was working out for you as a frost giant." She said the words with no recrimination or judging, just fact, and Loki appreciated it. From anyone else, he might have taken the mere mention of his true origins as an insult. From her, it was simply a desire to _know_.

That was something he could understand.

"This form isn't a glamour," he began and sat up as she sat down. It was a good thing that she dressed relatively casually for her profession, passing over suits and silk tops and heels in favor of boho blouses and tiered broomstick skirts and ballerina flats, otherwise he might have felt responsible for the sand getting everywhere. "It's not simply a cover-up. I am a shapeshifter by nature and by changing my shape, I change my physiology as well, same as I would should I change to a bird or to a fish. Quite a few sorcerers are only capable of changing the outside; the outside is easy, the inside takes some work if you don't have the natural proficiency. There are _some_ changes, though," he amended after a pause, the academic getting the better of him, "I'm quite tall and lack the physique of the average Aesir, yet I am very… very, very small for my kind."

Loki couldn't quite hide the flinch that came from those words and he had to force himself to say them in the first place.

"I see," Doctor Moran said mildly, "I'm glad to know that you're alright, then." At Loki's warily curious eyebrow, she continued, "I was worried about you being prone to overheating."

His face softened.

"There is no need to worry," he said, a little bit of a soothing note entering his tone, "As long as I apply sunscreen and make sure to keep myself hydrated," He shook a plastic bottle next to him for emphasis, "I am as suited to this climate as you are."

"That's debatable," she commented, wiping her forehead, "I think at this point you're probably better off than I am."

"Do I have to worry about _you_ overheating? I'm sure if you asked nicely, Stark could procure for you a bikini."

Caroline didn't bother holding back the snigger of laughter and she waved off his concerns as easily as she kicked off her shoes.

"Don't tell anyone I did that; it's horribly unprofessional. A lot of my colleagues already turn up their noses when they see me at conventions, if they found out I took my shoes off in front of a patient too, _oh_ the scandal it would cause." She had to be joking; the look on her face was anything but serious, but Loki frowned anyway, displeased.

"You will have to tell me about these 'conventions' at some point," he noted, "But people you work with think that you're…unsatisfactory? Incompetent?"

"It's the New York thing, I think," she confessed with a dry smile and a shrug of her shoulders, "Everything's high speed and high fashion and everyone expects it from their doctors, too. Cambridge is more laid-back."

"I…see." Loki didn't. "They're wrong. You do a good job. They should realize that, regardless of how you dress or how you hold yourself." He looked away when Doctor Moran smiled at him, wide and pleased and unashamed.

"I'm glad you think so," she told him gently, "That I'm able to do some good for you is what matters most to me."

Loki forced down the flush that threatened to creep up his neck.

"I wasn't expecting to find you out here, Loki."

Green eyes flicked over to the house, where both Tony and Steve could be seen covertly observing, out of earshot but within visual distance. Loki shrugged.

"I still can't quite figure out whether they're actually gigantic morons or not," he admitted, the confusion showing plain on his face. Caroline cocked her head and set her glasses on her head, watching them for a few moments before turning back to Loki. "But I like the sunshine and the seawater even though it's hell on my hair, and I like watching Director Fury live up to his name every time someone finds a loophole in his rules. They're either morons, lazy, or masochistic."

"Sounds to me like they're trying to give you some leeway. Be kind to you."

Loki said nothing and she took that as permission to continue.

"Captain Rogers told me about what happened yesterday, that you helped patch them up. Would you like to talk about it? I got the impression that you were rather upset by the whole thing."

Loki scoffed.

"Do you do that on purpose? Asking if I _want_ to talk about something…"

"A girl can dream."

"That's why they're called dreams."

Doctor Moran scowled at him and Loki inched away a little bit, not entirely trusting her to not throw some sand at him in retaliation. She eventually just smiled knowingly at him as if she knew something he didn't and leaned back on her hands. It wasn't much different, Loki noted, to do this outside than it was to do it inside his room. More ambient noise, certainly, and better lighting, but Loki still sat in every way that a prince wasn't supposed to sit and Doctor Moran somehow managed to look at home despite everything.

Business as usual.

"I didn't know that you had medical training."

"It's standard," Loki replied, "Someone's always getting hurt and there aren't enough sorcerers in the world to manage even just the training injuries if no one knows how to care for themselves. Burn salves, wound care…they're learned from childhood."

"So Thor is also well aware of such things."

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you let him take care of it?"

"Because he's an idiot," Loki replied instantly, "He's just as likely to ignore an injury out of manly pride than he is to treat it. And I had the materials on hand while he didn't."

Doctor Moran nodded at him and quieted. Loki simmered in silence for a good three minutes, rolling words upon words over in his head.

"It made me _furious_," he finally said. His voice had lowered to almost a whisper, "That someone would _dare_— It was…unexpected. I wasn't expecting to feel that way."

"It made you angry? Not sad or worried?"

"There was nothing to worry about," Loki said and shifted handfuls of sand between his fingers. His words were confident but the way he said them was more like he was trying to convince himself of the fact. "They were not permanently harmed and they were all present and accounted for, not that it would matter to me if they weren't. There was nothing to worry about because I could _fix_ it. Everything was easy to manage; little things here and there. A scrape, a fracture… a burn. No, no. I was _angry._"

"I see."

"Aren't you going to talk about how having so much anger is counterproductive and unhealthy?" Loki asked in the manner of a student who had been given a lecture too many times for it to stick. Doctor Moran fought the urge to tsk and wag her finger at him_._

"Oh, I might if I thought that anger was the root of the problem. I hate to tell you, Loki, but you don't have anger issues. You're angry but in your case, it's the symptom and not the disease. Trust me, there's a difference. It wasn't anger that brought you into my office that first day. What were you so angry about?"

"…Victor broke my rules." Loki admitted and Doctor Moran's eyebrows rose, crinkling her forehead.

"And what are your rules?"

Loki hesitated.

"The Avengers are not to be touched without my permission," he said eventually, "But it has been a while, I suppose. Perhaps those who would call themselves villains have become complacent in my absence. They never did like my rules."

"Let me just clarify, just to be absolutely positive," Doctor Moran began, an unreadable look on her face, "You have rules that all the other supervillains are aware of," Loki nodded, "That mean that the Avengers are not allowed to be provoked without your express consent."

"…that's correct."

"So you see them as yours. You claim them as being under your jurisdiction, your responsibility."

"Of course they're mine—" And then as quickly as he'd begun, Loki closed his mouth and looked away to stare stubbornly at the horizon. A hand landed on his upper arm, just for a brief second, just long enough to let him know that not looking at her wasn't going to make the subject go away any time soon. It was a professional touch but a sensitive one, one that she knew he could tolerate and wouldn't take as a threat or an invasion of privacy.

"Loki, please. I'm not judging you. You know I'm not judging you. I just want to understand you and how you feel. You see them as yours."

"…yes." He still wouldn't look her in the eyes but he answered nonetheless. "I suppose I do. But only in the way that—they keep me from being bored out of my skull." Never mind the fact that before all of this had gone down, he'd never had issues with boredom once he'd taken up some hobbies. "The only person allowed to harm them is me."

But he hadn't actually harmed any of them for about four months before saving Thor, either. Nothing that an ice pack wouldn't fix.

"So when they get hurt, it upsets you."

"Stop it. I don't want to talk about this."

"_Loki_. I understand what this is about, I think." The doctor's brown eyes were earnest and she looked to be fighting the urge to reach out to him again. She resisted. "It's okay if you care about people. It is. The world won't end if—"

"It's not okay at all." Loki dropped his face into his hands and shook his head slowly, back and forth. It was a hopeless gesture. "It's not okay. It's not okay. It's not okay."

"It's okay if there's something inside you that doesn't hate," Caroline told him, despicably gentle. "It's a good thing."

"It isn't."

"Why do you say that?" she asked and Loki lifted his head out of his arms to stare out towards the horizon, the afternoon sun brightening his eyes and making them even greener than they were to start with.

"I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do with something that isn't-" _Anger hatred discontent resentment pain hurt guilt shame_, "What am I supposed to even _do_ with that?"

"And is it equally impossible to someone to care for you in return?" she plowed on and watched him cringe away from her words as if they were blows instead. His feelings flashed on his face like the seasons set to fast forward, agony to frustration to more frustration to finally settling on an anxious resignation.

"What do I _do_?" he asked again, feeling lost and out of control. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to—This isn't what was supposed to happen."

"What was supposed to happen?"

Pale, long-fingered hands dug into the sand.

"The balance would remain as it was," he whispered, "They would succeed or they wouldn't. I would perish or I wouldn't. I would be stopped or I wouldn't." The words slipped out of him like water through fingers, like trying to hold onto lightning. It was easy to accept lies from a liar, much more difficult to swallow the truth. Doctor Moran reached out and brushed his upper arm again, soft as anything.

Grounding.

"Loki, Loki, don't you understand? An unbalanced balance isn't balanced at all."

He blanched, then glared.

"Explain it to me, then," he snapped, "If you're so smart, wise one, explain it to me. Explain to me what you've learned, in all your many years, that I've apparently missed in millennia of living."

"Someone's gotten in to your heart," the words hit like one of Hawkeye's shots –never missing, never missing, never missing-, "And you never meant for that to happen. You never meant to _care_ and now you do, and it _terrifies_ you because when you care, it gets out of your control. That's what caring does; it makes something else matter, gives someone power over you, and that scares the daylights out of you. And the worst part? You know that they've begun to care about you in return and that they don't want to hurt you. _Thor_ doesn't want to hurt you. _Captain Rogers_ certainly doesn't want to hurt you. And every time you're reminded of that, it makes you wonder what they'd rather do instead and what you might be expected to give up in exchange."

_And you're so, so scared of that_.

"You don't know what to do with the prospect that someone might care for you without wanting something in return."

Loki trembled, the remnants of his stoicism in tatters, all of his bluster and pride and temper shredded to ribbons with a few well-placed hits. He swayed, shifting away from her, and curled in on himself. Bared arms wrapped around his middle and held tight as if he were trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.

"Am I wrong?"

Heavy silence.

"Loki. Am I wrong? If I am, correct me. Tell me."

Hands, normally so steady with patience and knowledge and power, raked anxiously through dark hair and Loki still couldn't look her in the eyes. She'd hurt him deeply, Caroline knew, and that it was a wound that couldn't be avoided in the face of such a subject, not when he was so distressed and half-panicked over the mere thought. Loki needed truths –hard truths- from someone who he knew wasn't out to hurt him out of malice, from someone whom he knew was looking out for _him_ and no one else.

It didn't mean that it didn't hurt her too though, to see him looking that way and because of her.

"…I'd really, really like for this to be over," he finally said.

"We still have thirty minutes," she reminded him gently and saw broad shoulders tense. "I'll cut a deal with you. We spend the rest of the session here, doing whatever you want as long as you don't walk away from me. We can talk, we can go for a walk, you can sit silently and think and I keep you from bullying yourself into a mental corner…but we do it together. And then when it's time for me to leave, I want you to do something that helps calm you down and do it until you start to feel better. Okay?" No answer. Doctor Moran stuck her hand out until it hovered in front of Loki's chest. "You don't have to say anything. Shake my hand if you agree."

Slowly, long fingers reached out and curled around her palm, shaking once and then dropping back into his lap.

"Very good, Loki. You've done well."

The next half hour was spent in sullen silence, even when Loki slouched and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and the only evidence of pain were the deep, shuddering gulps of breath that he took as if he'd never get enough air again.

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><p>AN2: Thank you for reading! If you have anything at all to say, be it praise or criticism, please leave a review and let me know! I appreciate every bit of feedback.<p> 


	26. Agate

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Let me just remind you all again that yes, this story will remain gen. No pairings to be found here.<p>

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Six: Agate<p>

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><p>Loki hovered in the doorway to the living room.<p>

It was occupied but not by much; Tony had gotten up and left sometime between Loki's approaching the door and opening it and now the only person present was Steve, sitting on the couch and flipping through the channels on the television. Thor wasn't here, Loki knew, and wouldn't be back for at least another hour yet. He wasn't here because of Loki, because he knew that Loki found his presence nearly unbearable immediately before or after his sessions and preferred to give the desired space rather than have a fight about it.

And Loki would most definitely have fought about it, would bare claw and fang in order to keep some semblance of control of himself. Thor had a way of making him lose that control, making him more volatile, making everything a little more sharp and a little more potent.

That was something he didn't need right then.

Loki was _tired_.

Tired and yet still coiled up inside with tension.

He'd been hoping that the room might have been empty but that wasn't his luck. He didn't want to see anybody right then; all Loki really wanted to do was either watch something mindless and hopefully be bored enough to fall asleep, lest he resort to practicing his knife-throwing on Tony Stark's bedroom door. Somehow, a part of him had known that it couldn't possibly be that easy.

Nothing was ever that easy.

Loki didn't move and didn't make a sound but somehow, Rogers sensed eyes on him and glanced over, catching sight of Loki standing there and doing a very good impression of being absolutely, completely, utterly lost. A single blonde eyebrow went up and after a brief moment of consideration, Steve waved.

"Hi there," he said.

Norns, but Loki was tired.

Without fanfare or drama, Loki dropped his head and raised a hand in response.

"Hello."

Loki didn't move and after a few seconds, Steve turned back to the television, still acutely aware of the fact that he was no longer alone.

He didn't look away but after a while, the cushion next to him sagged as Loki dropped into it.

"Don't touch me."

"Okay," Steve said even as Loki leaned to the side to brush warm shoulder against warm shoulder. He was still sandy from being outside and some other time, he might have scolded him for bringing half the beach in with him to get ground into the couch cushions, same as he would have if he had been Thor or Clint or one of the other juveniles he called his friends. He didn't, though, not when he could feel the occasional bone-deep tremor shake through the body next to his.

"Don't touch me," Loki repeated.

"Okay," Steve replied again even when a hand dug in to the fabric at his thigh like he'd done once before. It was an instinctive gesture and Steve wondered if he'd done it before, before he and Thor had had their whatever they'd had, before everything had broken and turned into what it had become, before brothers fought and drew blood. He wondered if, years before Steve had even been born, much less frozen in ice, if Loki hadn't sat next to Thor and reached out for him without thinking about it, to reach out for something steady.

Steve wondered if he'd temporarily become that something steady or if he was just convenient.

He found that he didn't really mind either way.

Loki opened his mouth to speak but the only thing that came out was a harsh, ragged gasp that coming from anyone else might have been the beginnings of a sob. This wasn't anybody else, though, it was Loki, who was tough and diamond-hard and all sharp edges and who would rather die than cry in front of someone he regularly referred to as a kewpie doll.

"Would you like me to call Thor? He has his com and I know he'd come if you wanted to see him," he asked gently and Loki wanted to hit him. Almost. The gentleness scraped across his skin like sandpaper but at the same time, loosened a bit of the knot that was keeping him so wound up. He always did have a soft spot for ridiculously tall, blonde do-gooders.

One day he'd have to take a good, hard look at that soft spot. That day was not today.

"No."

Steve decided to risk getting swatted or snapped at and slung an arm around Loki's shoulders, feeling them tense up under him.

"I said don't touch me," Loki grumbled, his eyes very, very green and very, very uncomfortable. Steve was all-too aware that he preferred annoyance.

"Oh, hush," Steve told him, "Or else I'll have to actively try to cheer you up. We all know how much you hate that."

"I am going to smack you, Steve Rogers."

"Yeah, okay."

Ignoring the nervous and belligerent man under his arm, Steve went back to flipping through the channels, this time with commentary because Loki was one of those people who consulted the TV guide while Steve was the type to mindlessly flip until he found something that looked decent. He just always forgot how long it took when there were more than ten channels (and it wasn't like he'd gotten much chance to watch television before he'd been frozen), and Tony paid for the Super Deluxe Mega-Awesome Special More-Money-Than-God cable package, and Loki waited for approximately four minutes, sullen, before he couldn't take it anymore and stole the remote to flip to the TV guide.

"I cannot abide your inefficiency anymore," he informed him with a tilt of his chin, "I really can't."

"But of course, your majesty…" Steve muttered sarcastically, receiving a shove but no recoil for his trouble.

"That's more like it," Loki told him like a benevolent ruler addressing a dim but rather adorable subject who just couldn't control his own idiocy, "If only you could keep it up all the time, we'd be golden." On a whim, he settled on a news station that was broadcasting some political meeting, and he watched Steve perk up slightly. "Thirty percent," he murmured and the blonde man blanched, glaring at him.

"Shut up and quit ruining world news," he demanded, "I really don't need to think about Medvedev in a neon thong, _thank you_."

"But it's so very sweet of you to remember the things I say."

"_Shut up_, Loki, and stop_ ruining my brain_," Steve emphasized his words with a little shake, making a failed grab for the remote. Loki pulled it away and held it out and over his head as far as he could, foiling the other man's attempts to reclaim it.

"You are a violent heathen!" Loki hollered when Steve shrugged and decided to use his size as an advantage: simply flopping over and half-toppling his current couch-mate. "You hear me? _Heathen_. I'll have you shipped to Svartalfheim in a cat kennel for this."

"Yeah, whatever, okay."

A bare foot nudged threateningly into Steve's midsection and after a few seconds of squirming, Captain American peeled himself away, sniggering like a twelve-year old who just slipped a whoopi cushion onto the teacher's chair. Not that Steve had experience in such things, no. Not at all. It was probably best to not press his luck, though, not when Loki was glaring daggers at him and looking like he was prepared to clock Steve over the head with the coveted remote control.

"This is really quite unhealthy," Loki mused idly, sitting up and leaning back as if he hadn't noticed that he was no longer quite so tense and had instead begun to relax into the contact points: shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, knee to knee, "You should go outside, get some exercise."

"I get plenty of exercise, thank you," Steve retorted, "I'm not a dog that needs to be walked regularly."

"That's true, that's Thor," Loki amended, not even ashamed to associate him in his head with a rather cheerful golden retriever.

"Besides," Steve continued as if Loki hadn't spoken and as if he hadn't just laughed at it, "I'm making up for lost time. Seventy years without cable television. They didn't even _have_ cable television in the 40's."

"And what do you think I'm doing? You think they show Disney movies in Asgard? It's always 'let's go to the amphitheater and watch the players make fun of Grettir the Strong setting people on fire again ' or worse, 'that play Freyja wrote where the main character is her being fawned over by every man in existence until our eyeballs fall out'. They've been doing that play for centuries and everyone knows how it goes and it's always terrible. Trust me, mortal, I have a _lot_ to be making up for in entertainment value over here."

Steve winced and reclined against the arm of the couch, watching the other man make an honest attempt this time to decide what to watch.

Loki felt a little bit better, just slightly, but found that he couldn't keep still. More than he couldn't keep still, he found that he didn't _want_ to keep still. He sat and scrolled for a few more minutes, letting his thumb on the remote give away the twitchiness. The desire to sit and sink into the cushions for a few hours or possibly the rest of his life had abated only to be replaced by a need to move and the desire to give something a good, hard beating.

Not a someone, though.

Not a someone this time, not when the only available target was someone who was being so stupidly kind to him that Loki wouldn't have a choice but to feel guilty should he lash out at him. Not for the first time, he wondered about that soft spot of his and whether it was reserved for blonde idiots or just kind idiots.

"Something wrong?"

Loki jumped at the question and was suddenly aware of the fact that he had paused entirely and was simply staring unseeingly at the screen.

"…definitely unhealthy," he muttered under his breath and turned the television off, "I don't suppose that you have anything in this house that can take some damage? Other than Stark, anyway." Loki asked abruptly, watching Steve's eyebrow shoot up into his hairline.

"What, like…you want to hit something?"

"So it would seem."

Loki hadn't had such an intense desire to beat the daylights out of something since…well, yesterday actually, if he had to admit it. Rogers was healing admirably for a human (that serum did good things for his body indeed) but he still wore a bandage –Loki's bandage- over his arm and likely would for another day until he could flex the limb without pain. In fact, if he was stuck on the subject of admitting things, Loki would have to admit that he'd never really stopped being angry.

He'd boxed it away but that didn't mean that it was gone.

Merely…contained.

No, no, it definitely wasn't gone and Loki definitely wanted to hit something.

The look of doubt on Steve's face sent a spark of irritation through him, familiar as it had been centuries ago when Thor had advised him to stay away from the training yards lest he get hurt.

"Let me assure you, Steve Rogers," Loki informed him coolly, "I am adept with the physical arts. I am primarily a sorcerer but only an idiot doesn't have a backup plan. I am a warrior as much as Thor and if you know what's best for you, you'll remember it."

_I am dangerous. I am not untrained. I am not inept. I am nowhere near so short-sighted. Don't you even dare forget that._

Steve blinked and raised his hands in a surrender that wouldn't ever be a surrender.

"Easy there, sorry. Didn't mean to get your buns in an uproar. If you want to beat the hell out of something, I'll show you where the gym is. Should be empty around this time; Tony's got his own and I'm more of a morning person."

"And Thor?" Loki couldn't resist asking. Steve shrugged.

"We banned him after he threw a treadmill out the window by accident. He gets enough exercise."

"Cheers," Loki muttered.

The Captain got to his feet and Loki followed, past the kitchen, down the stairs, down a hallway, down more stairs, down even more stairs, down _even more stairs_, until they reached a door made entirely of glass. At Loki's questioning look, Steve shrugged.

"It's nice to know if someone's already in there without going in or interrupting," he offered as explanation. "You need to change clothes or anything?"

Loki glanced down at himself, taking in his own loose trousers that he often wore to yoga and the soft green t-shirt that by this time he'd dusted off about three times. No shoes but he didn't really need them for this. He shook his head.

"No, this attire is sufficient for my needs," he said, waiting just long enough for Steve to get the door open before barreling in past him, skidding to a halt in the middle of the huge room.

It wasn't unlike the yoga studio, actually, big and well-lit and full of empty space, plenty of room to move and stretch and Loki would definitely remember where it was. He rolled his hips and his shoulders to loosen them out. Green eyes flicked from the shiny, polished floor to the pile of mats just to the side of where the massive mirror along the wall ended to the metal machines on the other end that he had no idea what they did to…exactly what Loki needed.

A massive bag hung from the ceiling on a chain, movements tiny and slow thanks to its own weight.

Loki focused on that.

Perfect.

"That thing," he pointed, "You just hit it, correct?" He wouldn't put it past anything of Tony's creation to not suddenly sprout wings or fangs or attempt to perform an exorcism at any given moment. Steve snickered but shook his head at the wariness.

"Pretty much, yeah. You hit it and it tries to hit you back. Talk about the joys of physics. I, uh, tend to be pretty hard on punching bags so Tony made that one that even I can beat on." Steve scratched the back of his head and watched Loki's eyes gleam with what couldn't be anything other than anticipation.

Come to think of it, every time they'd ever fought, Loki had always stuck to spells and sorcery that meant he barely did more than waggle his fingers or wave an arm. Steve realized that while he'd seen Thor fight, punching things and swinging Mjolnir with all the joy as one would fly a kite, he'd never seen Loki physically get down and dirty and dish out a pounding, not unless it involved grabbing Tony by the wrist and hurling _him_ out a window.

He found himself strangely looking forward to it.

Loki meanwhile strode forward to approach the hanging bag. Experimentally, he gave it a tap. It swung on its chain just a little bit, heavy and reticent. The side of his lips tilted up. Oh, he might actually enjoy this.

Forgetting Steve standing in the doorway (he could leave or stay, it made no difference to Loki), Loki went about having his way with the bag, if by having his way with it meant smacking it around like an oversized hacky sack.

He lashed out a fist and caught it on the side with a solid punch, sending it swinging until he whipped around to catch it on the other side with a rolling kick. He felt the force of his own hit vibrate through and damn it all, it felt really, really good. Loki found himself beginning to smile and continued to lay blow after blow, choosing to shift and spin and _move_ as if the bag was a real opponent, rather than something that could only swing where he flung it.

For the first time in a long while, Loki felt a funny little rush of exhilaration, not entirely unlike how he'd felt when he'd stepped out of the mansion onto the beach.

It felt good to do this again, familiar. His body knew the motions, knew the training katas that he'd learned from the masters and the ones he'd devised himself when the standard style didn't suit him and he was forced to make up his own. It had been a while, far too long for Loki's liking, but his body still remembered, weeks upon weeks of inaction weren't anywhere near enough to overcome years and centuries of Loki's rampant perfectionism.

He knew these movements and oh, how he loved them.

The only thing that would have made him feel more at home would be to have his daggers, warm and wicked in his hands.

That would end this quickly, though. Loki wasn't out to destroy his opponent right now, merely bat it around until he had decided that it had taken enough abuse, and then give it a few more smacks for good measure just because he could.

The blood was pounding in his ears like a drum and this time, it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

_There's a rhythm in every movement, little prince of Asgard_, Loki remembered, those words being some of the few that had stuck with him from his early training. _The trick is to find the music and move to it. Do that and your opponent won't know what hit him._

_But what if the person you fight hears music, too?_

Loki might have laughed at his younger self, untarnished and too smart and too curious, with a need to know that had gotten him into more trouble than Thor alone could be blamed for. But he also remembered the look on his training master's face and the words he took to heart even more than the previous and the sharp smile the man had had that -now that he'd watched enough Animal Planet to know- had been rather shark-like. He'd been a callous, unfeeling man, indiscriminately tough on the newest trainees and both princes of Asgard alike. Both Loki and Thor had despised him with a passion.

_Then you make up your own and make sure that they're better, and if you're lucky you'll be alive to tell stories about it._

And that was exactly what Loki had done.

He'd made his own music, danced his own dances, and had made sure that they were better.

And he was alive to prove it.

Job well done.

Gritting his teeth, Loki nailed another solid hit to the bag, sending it spinning into his other hand to bat it around again. He didn't turn his attention away to see if Rogers was there or if he'd left, if he was watching or if he'd found something else to occupy him. It didn't much matter, Loki's very blood was singing.

The frustration and anxiety drained out of him to be replaced with what his comrades in yoga would have referred to as something akin to zen. Loki let his brain check out and allowed himself to simply feel—the leather against his knuckles and palms, the polished wood on the bottoms of his feet, how his body moved like something loose and perfectly calibrated. Every movement was his and deliberate, every swish of the hips, every swivel of his shoulders, every twist and every step and every turn. It felt good and it was beautiful.

Loki paused and steadied, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet as he took a step back to let the bag swing and slow to still on its chain.

He could have easily smashed it to bits, sent it flying, sent it out a window, send the stuffing spilling out onto the floor.

He hadn't.

When the punching bag was entirely steady, Loki turned around and glanced towards the doorway. He wasn't sure how much time had passed but Rogers was still standing there, watching with such a look on his face that Loki couldn't make out heads or tails of what he could possibly be thinking. It wasn't a smile, it wasn't a scowl, it wasn't necessarily appreciative nor condemning… actually, it didn't look like he was thinking anything at all. Just watching, silent and motionless, as if that was all he knew how to do.

Loki shifted and it was only when he'd begun to approach that Steve snapped himself out of whatever brain corner he'd gotten himself stuck on.

"My thanks," the dark-haired man informed him, stopping just before pushing past him. He paused and cocked his head, "I suppose it warrants _some_ show of gratitude…"

"No, no, you don't have to do anything," Steve stuttered, eyes taking in Loki's very serious face, then the window, then Loki again, "It wasn't a big deal or anything and I did it because I wanted to—" His words were stopped by a finger pressing itself to his lips then two seconds later flicking him sharply in the nose.

"I don't care why you did it," Loki told him, "What matters is that you did a kindness towards me and for some ridiculous reason, I find myself wanting to reciprocate. So _shut up_ and tell me what flavor of pie you like best before I change my mind and regain my sanity." Wasn't _that_ just the statement of the year?

And if Loki wasn't standing there, glaring and with his hands set on his hips and looking like he was a hairsbreadth away from actually smacking him upside the head, Steve was having a very vivid hallucination.

"Are you _sure_ you're a supervillain?" Steve asked numbly and this time Loki _did_ smack him upside the head. There had to be something wrong with the fact that Steve had managed to call that one. There had to be.

"Care to test that theory?" Loki snapped, clearly aggravated and possibly embarrassed, "Fine, then. Forget I said anything—" He turned to leave only to run into Steve's arm. "What _now_?"

"Apple is my favorite."

Loki gaped at him then eventually shook his head, rolling his eyes skyward.

"Worse than Thor—irritating, _stupid _blonde idiots…"

And then he stomped off, leaving Steve standing in the doorway unable to keep from wondering just how many people in how many years had _ever_ just done something nice for him because they could.

* * *

><p>"Thor," Steve said in lieu of an actual greeting, striding into the living room with purpose. From his position in the armchair by the door (<em>Bruce's<em> armchair, which the other man never failed to emphasize), Thor glanced up and smiled in reply.

"Greetings, friend. How are you this fine day?"

"Oh, I'm fine." The blonde man's words and tone were distracted and he raked a hand through his hair, not unlike Loki earlier -sitting on the couch and looking like he was trying desperately not to cry-, "Just—I've got a question for you."

"Yes?"

"If you had to give your opinion, how would you say Loki's fighting skills are? Not taking into account his magic and all that."

Thor thumbed the scruff at his chin and mulled over the question. Steve just waited in the doorway for his answer.

"My brother possesses the strength of one of Asgard," Thor said eventually, tone carefully diplomatic. "He completed his training in a timely manner and excels at a multitude of weaponry."

Steve was hearing a 'but' somewhere in there.

"…but?"

Thor shrugged a little sheepishly.

"The style we covet does not suit him. He adapted well, all things considered, enough to pass training. But…you wouldn't have seen because he so rarely exerts himself in battle, preferring his spellwork the way he does, but—"

"He doesn't move like you at all."

Thor's eyebrows shot into his bangs and it was such a Loki-like look on him that Steve did a brief double-take. The two of them looked nothing alike but sometimes, _sometimes_, it was simply impossible to mistake them for anything other than brothers. At moments like this, that definitely held true.

"Oh? You have seen him fight, Steve Rogers?"

Who had picked up what from whom?

Steve shook his head.

"Not fight, persay. I just showed him down to the gym and he took out some frustration on my punching bag."

"Ah," Thor didn't look surprised, not nearly as surprised as Steve had expected him to be, "My brother is less prone to fits of temper than I but when he gives in to them, it's best to give him something to hit and back away. I fear it is a family thing, alas, to be cursed with some form of temper. You are correct, though. When it became clear that he would never be very…" Thor looked like he was struggling for a word that wouldn't make him sound like a huge jerk before finally settling on one, "Comfortable with the style we're known for, he created his own. He is very fast, isn't he?"

Steve nodded, remembering the fluid movements that contrasted perfectly with Thor's, the martial artist set against the knight.

"Most of us prefer axes or swords. Or hammers," he amended, "Loki prefers twin daggers or a staff if he has a choice. A warning, though, should it ever come up." Steve raised an eyebrow. "Beware of anything he keeps in his hair. There is a very good reason why every attempted assassination in the last seven-hundred years has failed and very little of it can be attributed to the competence of the royal guards."

For someone who occasionally lacked any and all forms of tact or subtext, Thor was giving away more in what he didn't say than what he did and Steve could picture it perfectly. Loki, with his court manners and quiet disposition in comparison to his brother, the smaller one, would have been considered the weaker, easier target (especially if he was as notoriously uncomfortable on the courts as Thor was implying). Little would any assassin know that he was also the more dangerous by far.

Thor could be relied upon to give warning, to give mercy, to give a fighting chance in the name of sport and righteousness before smashing the daylights out of someone with Mjolnir.

Loki would pretend to be helpless, frightened and soft-spoken, just until someone got close enough to make the last mistake of their life. No chances and no mercy because he wouldn't have expected any in return.

Thor apparently saw the comprehension on Steve's face because he nodded, an oddly pleased look curling his lips upwards.

"You understand, then."

"I believe so."

"And you understand _why_?"

There was more to that question, Steve knew, and couldn't help remembering the feeling of being backed up in an alleyway, using a trash can lid as a shield. Couldn't help remembering the fear and the anger at being so helpless, so weak, so _not good enough _for what he wanted. Being bigger and taller and stronger now didn't let him forget that helplessness and how much he'd _hated_ it.

Was that what Loki had done before he'd decided to hell with all of them?

"…I believe so."

Thor smiled then, a quirky, almost sad little thing that was most unlike his normal broad grin.

"Then it is more than I or Asgard could see for a very long time. With few exceptions, there are always reasons for the things he does even if at the time they seem like madness. Loki is many things. He is quiet and unsociable and too sharp for polite company at times, he is crafty, he is a terrible drunk, he hates being dragged away from his books, and he is _always_ plotting something but in his heart, he is _loyal_. Always has it been that way and it's only now that I can truly see the things that I have missed."

"What are you trying to convince me of?" Steve couldn't help but ask. Thor scratched the back of his head.

"Nothing you have not already been convinced of already, I'm sure. It is simply that he is fond of you, Steve Rogers, and I find myself inclined to want to keep it that way."

And if that wasn't the most pleasantly-worded, roundabout, terrifyingly Norse version of 'hurt him and I squash you like a bug' Steve had ever heard, he didn't know what was.

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><p>AN2: Thank you all so much for reading! If you have anything to say, please leave me a review to let me know!<p> 


	27. Pearl

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Okay, please don't kill me for the shortness of this chapter. It just really doesn't go with the next chapter, and since it starts getting into –GASP- real plot, I thought it prudent to put it by itself.<p>

Also, I've gotten a particular question multiple times and I'd like to address it here. Some of you have asked why this fic lacks Natasha, Clint, and Bruce. It isn't because I dislike these characters (on the contrary, I adore them more than I can even say) but at the time that this was written and posted to livejournal, _The Avengers_ wasn't out yet and I didn't feel like I had enough of a handle on their characters to write them with justice.

Thank you! I hope you enjoy.

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Seven: Pearl<p>

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><p>Caroline was in a bar.<p>

This wasn't horribly unusual or unheard of. She wasn't an excessive drinker, no, but she did enjoy the occasional Jameson and ginger ale in certain social situations and after today? She thought she deserved it at least a little bit. It was a nice thing; she had a few hours before she was due to give her daily report to Sergeant Fury and in the meantime, she could mull her day over and think a little bit.

The seat was comfortable, the atmosphere was good, and the bar was quiet but not unnervingly so. Not the quiet of a place abandoned but the quiet of a place for quiet people, people who simply wanted to sit and think or people who didn't want to deal with the party kids of Malibu.

Caroline had picked this place not only because of the spectacular reviews in the paper and on the internet but _because_ of that quiet atmosphere; the last thing she wanted was to be enjoying her drink and then suddenly run into Tony Stark at his most unattractive. He was rather infamous around these parts, after all.

It wasn't the first time she'd pushed Loki in a session but it was the first time she'd pushed him so hard and practically bullied him into honesty. She didn't like the feeling; by the time she'd left he'd been calm but still silent and anxious.

Caroline dropped her head into her palm and nursed a sip of her drink.

She didn't like leaving things off on a bad note but half the reason that they worked so _well_ together was that there was a routine and they stuck with it. She never asked him to stay late to keep hashing things out; he had never once expected her to go over in time. Even now, when she'd flown across the country, that routine was _important_. It helped Loki feel like he had control of the situation, that even when things went downhill, that routine was there to keep everything from getting out of hand.

If he walked out of her office, that was one thing.

If he walked out of his bedroom in the mansion to give himself a breather, that was one thing.

But she wouldn't walk out on him, ever. That meant that she never ended a session early, she was always there when she said she would be, and that didn't change whether she was in New York or California. Loki hadn't actually walked out in a long time, actually. In fact, it had been a while since she'd pushed him to the point that he got that almost hoarse, breathy quality to his voice that meant were he anyone else, he'd probably be crying.

She hated it when he sounded like that.

Caroline took another drink and sighed a little.

They'd made so much progress that it was natural that there'd be some bad days. That hadn't changed either.

Didn't mean it didn't royally suck, though.

It didn't really help that it was harder than she'd thought that it would be, being out here like this. There wasn't anything she would have changed her mind for but it _was_ hard. She wasn't expecting for it to be so _lonely_.

"That's a pretty heavy sigh for a young lady."

Caroline glanced up to find that she had company, a smartly dressed older gentleman with briefcase in hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "Am I bothering you?"

The man shook his head.

"No, not at all. I just arrived." He gestured to the stool next to her, "Do you mind terribly if I sit? It's been a long day."

"Oh gosh, no. Please, go ahead." She waved a hand, setting down her drink and sitting up. She might have had a long day herself but she wasn't going to be holding a conversation while slouching.

He set his briefcase to the floor and sat, ordering a Kir Royale in a mild tone to the bartender. The drink arrived in a timely fashion, perfectly prepared, red and bubbly and with a cherry bouncing along the bottom of the glass. He took a sip, savored it with a smile, and turned back to Caroline.

"Joseph Harker."

"Caroline Moran," Caroline held out a hand for Joseph to shake; his grip was firm and comfortable, nothing cold fish or even remotely elderly about it. She smiled. "So, Mr. Harker—"

"Joseph, please."

"Joseph, then. What brings you here?"

"Oh, you know," the man shrugged a shoulder, "Long day at work. This place has a good tone, doesn't it? Friendly but quiet. Very good for the nerves. Is that why you're here as well, Miss Moran?"

"Caroline, please." Absently, Caroline slipped her glasses off her nose and polished them in her lap. It was kind of nice, she noted, to just sit and talk to someone with no expectations. He seemed innocuous enough, with his polished shoes and hair that was almost completely salt and pepper. "Something like that, yes."

"Are you new to the area, Caroline?"

"A bit. I'm here for business. Been here for a month or so, though." Caroline said, shifting a bit to prop her chin up on her hand, "May I ask what it is that you do?"

"Oh, I've been with the same company for years. We make a few things and some advertising on the side. I won't even tell you how long I've worked there; it would surely give you a bad opinion of me."

Caroline laughed, the good company lifting her spirits and the alcohol warming her insides.

"It's my job to not judge," she said with a smile. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with having the same job for a long while, if it's something you enjoy doing and it pays the bills. More people should be so happy. I had about three 'careers' before I found the one for me. Some people never do."

"I agree wholly," Joseph took a sip of his drink and set it back atop the bar with an almost inaudible clink. "It's good work; good people, good pay. What more could someone ask for?" He chuckled a little to himself and raised his glass again. "A toast to good people?"

"To good people," Caroline agreed, toasting with a flourish and taking another sip to finish off the glass. She was warm, not in a drunk way but in something almost like relief. She felt herself unwind, uncoiling and letting the stress like riptide flow out, leaving nothing more than the steadiness she coveted in herself above all else.

The clink of the delicate glass against her lowball sounded like a bell.

"May I buy you another drink?"

Caroline glanced down and smiled.

It had been a while since she'd had this type of normalcy anyway and let it not be said that Caroline Moran was ungracious!

"Certainly," she replied and settled back in her seat to relax.

She never thought to notice that, through the conversation, the level of Joseph's drink never went down.

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><p>AN2: Thank you for reading! Please don't kill me for the shortness of this part.<p> 


	28. Mica

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: I totally just realized something. Each chapter I post of this, on average, gets about 3-4K hits the first day. This last chapter was almost 5K and 1K visitors. If everyone who read reviewed, just once? HELL'S BELLS. The brain boggles. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!<p>

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Eight: Mica<p>

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><p>Thor was awake at precisely 2:37 in the morning and that was unusual.<p>

It was business as usual for Loki, who had always tended to do his best everything –work, thinking, spells- in the hours during which he was most alone and darkness cloaked the world in a cape of quiet and solitude. For Thor, however, who had always been a child of the day, it was most abnormal.

Thor sat now, not on the couch with which Loki was so familiar these days, but settled in the bay window seat. He seemed to sprawl naturally, using every inch of space to his advantage though less would have sufficed, and Loki watched without interruption. Not only was Thor awake too late, but he was _reading_. Not just reading, he was reading by the light of a dim light and the material of choice was—

Well.

"So that's where it went," Loki commented and stepped fully into the room, pausing long enough for Thor to look up and register his presence before approaching.

"I found it in between the cushions," Thor said. "Your books always did tend to end up there; you drove the servants mad."

"And you always seemed to find them though rarely did you read them, a fact that made your tutors madder."

Loki didn't ask Thor to move over and give him room, choosing instead to sidle up against the wall and sink down to settle on the floor. He crossed his legs and sighed, letting green eyes slip shut. They only opened again when Thor spoke.

"I don't understand this story," Thor admitted, catching Loki's eyes and waving the book a little bit. It had come used and the blue cover was tatty and creased, the pages yellowed and pungent with the scent of old paper and ink and time. "I don't understand why two people leaving a kingdom would send it into the madness the way it does."

"No?" Loki asked, taking the book and flipping through it.

"No. Those girls are neither spirits nor gods, nor do they have magic or sorcery or the ability to see the future. Yet the moment that they're gone, everything falls to lunacy. And why would it ever be up to a little boy to fix what's been wronged?"

"It's symbolism," Loki said, "Stability in chaos, sense in nonsense. No, there's nothing celestial about the princesses Rhyme and Reason, nothing that really sets them apart from others but common sense and the propensity to see what others might be blinded to. Thor, they were problem-solvers _because_ they could see what others didn't: objectively and without malice. They were fair where others weren't. Sanity in madness."

"Why couldn't anyone else do it? Why did it fall to a child who knew nothing even when everyone else admitted to making the mistake in the first place?"

Of all the things that Loki expected to do this evening, discussing the philosophy of a children's book was not one of them.

"Sometimes people are blind. Sometimes people are prideful. Sometimes people can't admit when they were wrong and sometimes people can't admit when they've wronged others. Sometimes people are…embarrassed for their mistakes and sometimes people aren't wrong at all."

This time Thor did move, sitting up fully and making room. Loki remained where he was, no longer focused but instead staring at the pages without really seeing them. He saw something else instead: golden fields and golden halls that made his insides go cold with something related to both fear and longing.

"Sometimes people cannot admit to being both wrong and wronged at the same time and find it easier to allow someone else to fix their mistakes than to forsake their pride."

"…do you agree with that?" Thor asked and Loki looked at him again, really looked at him. That familiar stare, bright as malachite, never wavered.

"Do _you_?"

For a good half minute they stared each other down until eventually, Thor was the one to look away.

"In thought, no. In action…"

That was as far as he got before his words stuttered and failed. Loki was tempted, so very tempted, to play ignorant of what he meant; play off of Thor's fears and insecurities, play off of his doubt and especially the obvious guilt he held close regarding Loki himself. It would have been easy, child's play. For Loki, who by this point knew all of Thor's soft spots and where he would need to hit them, it was almost too easy.

But for one who lied so, Loki could appreciate honesty, could appreciate its rarity and the way it was so very seldom used as a mechanism of kindness.

Loki knew very well how easily honesty could be used to hurt someone. He had done more than his fair share of it and had learned from those who would use it on him. Strike first, and they'll be too busy getting up to worry about what they're going to do to you later.

But Thor hadn't struck him.

Not this time.

"Whether I agree with such a concept is irrelevant," Loki said after some deliberation, "Whether I understand is another matter entirely."

"And do you understand, brother?"

Loki couldn't hold back the instinctive flinch that that word sparked through him.

"I am familiar with the feeling and with the occasional excess of ego."

_And guilt and shame and embarrassment and arrogance and chaos and why did I have to be right this one time when I'd give anything to be wrong?_

"When I think about that time, it's actually rather funny—" _Not funny, not funny, not funny_, "I never fathomed that things could be at once so clear and yet…" Loki hesitated, "I remember all of it with intense clarity, you know. Every feeling, every thought, every word. And yet, at the same time…it's all still very hazy to me." _Just pain and pain and pain and __**rage**__ and a howling that wouldn't cease._ "Like memories through a fishbowl or a scrying flame. I remember what happened and I remember how I felt but I cannot pull up the feelings themselves. Even now, I find myself unsure as to whether it was a madness affecting me then or a madness that affects me now that warps my processes."

"Mother told me about what happened, after Father fell into sleep," Thor confessed, "How you sat, pale and silent like a shadow at his side, like you didn't know where you were or who you are. She was frightened for you and at length admitted to me that she had not known how to ease you."

"There was nothing," Green eyes crackled with a sudden rush of angry heat, "Even had she tried. Perhaps it is to everyone's benefit that she did not bother."

"You had to be reminded that the throne was yours."

The expression on Thor's face was nearly unreadable and Loki wondered when that had happened.

Had it been when he'd fallen or when he'd returned? Had it been when he'd awoken in a strange room, missing time and weak and shackled? Or had it been a much longer time since he had been able to sit and think and speak and _breathe_ without the screams of everything painful ringing in his head?

"It hadn't occurred to you at all, had it?"

Loki scoffed.

"Are you just now figuring this out? I would think it was obvious. I despise repeating myself, but I've said it before and I'll likely say it again: my goal was never the throne."

It was something much more elusive, much more impossible, much more unattainable than some measly seat from which he could rule.

Thor's frown said plainly that he didn't understand.

"It's symbolism," Loki repeated, the words dripping from his lips like molten gold, "If you can understand that, you understand more than I give you credit for."

"Why did you sabotage my coronation? Was there not another way? Your actions caused the deaths of several of the royal guards. You could have said something instead."

"Right, because standing up in front of the royal court –which as you know had never been fond of me- and Odin Allfather and declaring that Thor Odinsson was an arrogant, bloodthirsty windbag would have gone over _so_ well," Sarcasm was a familiar friend on Loki's lips, "No, I could never have said anything. If I must, I will admit that I rather…regret the route I took that day. Not what I did nor what I made true but rather the way I got there. Had there been some other way—"

"There was _always_ another way! You are my brother, you could have told me your thoughts, I would have taken your counsel—"

A sudden, sharp breath of laughter erupted from the dark-haired man on the floor.

"Do not dare to lie to me, Thor," Loki snarled, "_Do not_. You would have no more have taken my counsel back then than you would have wed Sleipnir or Laufey himself. Only when it pleased you, only when it suited your desire." He smiled unhappily, remembering just how easy it had been to manipulate Thor into travelling to Jotunheim. "Don't think I didn't see you swinging that damned hammer around, two seconds away from its next hapless victim. Don't think I didn't see your bloodlust, not for battle but for _war_, that Fa—that Odin saw as well and failed to correct." Loki's voice softened but his words were hard and sharp as he continued, "Do not think for one second that I had never thought about how fast you might turn bludgeon or fist or blade upon me in a fit of temper should it strike your fancy. I calculated more than once and found the odds in my favor wanting."

"Brother, _Loki_, I would never have—"

"You can say that now and truthfully, colored with some temperance and a bit of well-deserved humility," Loki conceded, "But _before_? You can say this now, but before? Oh, no. No one could contradict the Mighty Thor, king-to-be, golden child, without severe reckoning. Not even the Mighty Thor's younger brother would have escaped unscathed."

Loki came down from his cool, quiet tirade breathing hard through his nose. His face betrayed the anger and the stress he remembered so clearly in the small things, shown in thinned lips and flared nostrils and a tightening tension around his eyes. Thor stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned.

"You were…scared of me?"

"Scared of _you_? No. Scared of your temper and what you might do in the heat of it? Thor, you scared everyone with sanity and even some of those without."

"I know…I know now that I was prideful. Am prideful. And that I have made many a mistake in succumbing to the thrall of arrogance and of temper and of childish warmongering. But…fear? Loki, you of all people feared retribution from me?"

_Thor, oh, Thor. If you knew how __**easily**__ I thought you would have disposed of me when you found out my true nature… it would likely break your heart._

Indeed, Thor was watching him as if about to cry, so very blue and so very _warm_.

Consciously, Loki endeavored to gentle his tone, if only just a little bit.

"Do you believe that the Lady Sif lacks a brain in her head?"

"Loki, you _hate_ Sif."

"There is no love lost, I will admit, but she is sensible. Has she not recently begun to challenge you and your decisions now that she trusts you enough to keep your head in the face of disagreement?" Loki knew nothing of the goings-about of Asgard but he knew very well how a person looked when forced to hold their tongue. Sif had a particularly unappealing way of doing it, too; all clenched jaw and sparking eyes that promised pain to the next person to vex her. Thor flinched as if he had been struck, the words that had been almost entirely guesswork hitting like a well-aimed blow. "You were always loved in Asgard but only doubted by those who loved you enough to see your faults. I _will not_ apologize for my actions on the day of your coronation for I do not regret them."

"What do you regret then, brother?"

Loki straightened against the wall and shot Thor a sharp, warning glance.

"And what makes you think that I regret anything?"

"Everyone regrets something. You've always hidden everything better than others. You are a master of half-truths and in saying you regret nothing from that day, it rather makes me wonder if there's something else from another time that you do."

Loki raised a brow. He'd had more than enough truthfulness this evening for his liking and he'd never been one to share his thoughts carelessly, spilling worries and concerns and fears for all to hear without regard. Still, this was almost…nice. This wasn't someone sitting down and pretending to listen, pretending to care. Not even the liar could lie to himself that much.

These were queries, not demands.

They came from care, not from obligation.

Loki knew obligation like the back of his hand, knew it in how the servants spoke when they thought no one could hear and in the looks soldiers exchanged when receiving an order they were forced to swallow down, remembered it in _Thor, he looks up to you. Don't be cruel._

"My congratulations," he gritted out eventually, "You finally got the message that I lie. Regularly, in fact."

_That_ got the proper reaction: a frustrated scowl and hopefully enough annoyance that the subject would drop due to Thor's impatience and Loki's ability to be the most roundabout and altogether irritating creature in any given vicinity at any given time.

…No such luck.

"Loki, please."

"What is to be done with me, Thor?" Loki asked suddenly with a wave of his hand to emphasize his point, "Really? I am aware that without my spells, I am visible to Heimdall and it isn't like you to keep such things from Odin Allfather anyway. He will know. He must know. If I am to be disposed of, I would like to know how it is to be done and by whom and when. I must admit, I find the not knowing…distressing. Am I to be subjected to the justice of Asgard or that of this realm? This is not the first I have asked and no one seems to have an answer for me. You, however… the unlikely source might have more information."

At this point, Loki had imagined about every horrible thing and applied them to himself and found that after enough deliberation, nothing surprised him. Nothing _would_ surprise him, not with the amount of dedication he had devoted to thinking almost solely of such things.

"Tell me, then. What has Not-Father demanded you do with me, your reckless, treacherous fiend of a prince?"

Thor let out a breath, looking for all the world as if he were about to witness a hanging. Loki steadied himself for the blow that he was almost looking forward to.

"For your crimes, Father has banished you from the kingdom of Asgard under threat of imprisonment and the removal of your magic," he answered finally and Loki waited. There had to be more. There was always more. "He has also stripped you of your rank and name until there may be such a time that he sees to return it. There was no other way, not with so many calling for your death-"

"And for my more recent misdeeds?" Loki interrupted, stoic and _still waiting_ for the other shoe to drop.

"It is none of Asgard's affair. In this, you are under the jurisdiction of SHIELD and however they see fit."

"And how do they see fit?"

Thor gulped.

"In theory, that would be up to me. I am the link between Asgard and Midgard and the only link to you. In action…what is known here as house arrest until further notice. Director Fury pushed for more physical confinement or a forced sleep but I… I didn't wish it."

Loki sat where he was, frozen on the floor.

It was becoming clear, suddenly and horribly clear that this would not go as he had expected. The predictability of others had failed him in the worst way and it felt like the floor had been tugged out from under his feet, leaving him teetering on an edge he couldn't see.

"Brother, I'm sor—"

"Do you think you did me a favor or a kindness?" Loki asked, voice lowering to a hiss, "Do you think that I am _better_ for this, when you yourself are also under the jurisdiction of Asgard? This is a farce! A lie of the deepest insult! An _insult_! Banishment, disownment?" The book went flying to thud against the wall and blue eyes followed it before turning back onto green that blazed and simmered with a sudden, dangerous fury. "That is the temporary punishment for a child who knows no better, who needs to be taught a _lesson_ before he can come back, crawling and contrite! Do you think me a fool? Do you think of me as you, who took a scant three days to regain approval? As if I'd even _want_ to return to Asgard…is _that_ what you think this means?"

"What is this? You act as if you would prefer something worse! Do Father's dungeons call to you, brother? Do you crave the agony and madness that would come from your magic being cut out of you piece by piece, spell by spell until your blood dulls and you become nothing more than a deranged shell of a man? Maybe _you_ are the fool, Loki Odinss—"

"I am no one's son! That is what disownment _means_, what I have taken for granted for some time already!"

And the part of Loki that wasn't desperately fighting the desire to lash out and see if he could break Thor's nose was noting, idly as if over afternoon tea, how nice it was to be able to shout at the top of his lungs and not be heard. Sound-proof walls were beautiful. Neither of them would have liked the interruption by someone too curious to mind their own business. Even Thor was now reaching the end of his temper, Loki's ire and sharp words lighting up his own and fanning it on.

"And that means that you're allowed to die no better than a dog?" Thor bellowed, furious and frustrated. He raked large hands through his hair, blonde slipping like liquid gold through the spaces between his fingers. "That you should be allowed the indignity of such treatment?"

"I am no one's son," Loki repeated and listened as the roar in his ears settled to a quiet burble of discontent that pulsed through him with every heartbeat. "Not Odin's, not Laufey's. Should I not die as a dog when I was left as one?"

"You should not look forward to such things, Loki. Not you. Even after this—" Thor's voice stuttered, "I have ever believed you to be better, to be more. Would that I be able to make you see, to aid you as I have so obviously haven't… it would only be a matter of asking."

A shiver ran through Loki's frame, spine spire-straight and unwilling to bend.

"I am no one's son."

"But you are still my _brother_ no matter your sire. Does that count for nothing?"

Everything that had filled him to this point had left him, the spaces left Loki feeling empty and numb and the look of pain and determination on Thor's face forced him to turn away. He couldn't look at him when he looked like that, not like this, not this way. A hand reached out to grip his shoulder, to hold as if to steady.

Loki realized that he had never really stopped trembling.

He didn't shake off the anchor even though he imagined being dragged down, down, until he couldn't breathe and everything was blue.

"I don't know what anything counts for," The words slipped out, heavy in the sudden silence. "Your words, your actions…how am I to know what they're worth? When one day, they mean the world and the next, penny change that can be brushed aside? I cannot keep up and you don't understand."

"Make me," Thor insisted, sounding almost desperate and more than a little afraid. In another situation, Loki would have given anything to see him look so scared. "Make me understand."

"Given enough time, I would have done anything. And could have. Without a thought or a care. I have never been brave, never the way I ought, but had I not had the annoying little tendency of giving in to my whims and curiosities..." Loki closed his eyes and thought of fire and bloodshed, bloodshed that he could have caused so very easily, given the time and madness and no outlet for what plagued his mind and heart. The shadows of what could have been were chased out by what _was_, of a tentative warmth and the knowledge that he could have fallen farther. It was a thought that both soothed and terrified him by turn, because of how easy it could have been for him and also because he hadn't let it happen.

Loki was no beast, burdened by an unstable mind and a frozen, broken heart that he'd swept up and thrown away.

He was sharp and he was angry and he was _hurt_, but he was himself.

He was broken but the pieces were there still, so long as he had the motivation to try and put them back together even when the edges cut.

He had thought, not long ago -yesterday, in fact, he'd thought of such a thing- that he might give anything to not be himself. To be anyone other than who he was: Loki, Son of No One, liesmith and coward and trickster. Loki wondered what he might be when all else was stripped away, heart and the despicable parts of him that sought company and touch and camaraderie that he shouldn't be so foolish to want after so long.

What would he be?

Was the core of a monster one of anger or one of sadness?

Or worse, one of nothing? Just a pool of nothing that took and took and craved but was never satisfied because it never got what it needed? Or maybe, maybe, nothing was ever enough. Maybe there was nothing in the world that could satisfy it and wasn't that scarier than about anything?

"I don't know what I wanted," Loki admitted, "But it wasn't this."

Wanted? He hadn't wanted the dank or the dark or the cold or his magic being ripped out of him. He had seen it done to a failure of an assassin who fancied himself a mage, once, and the unfortunate man had screamed and howled as if he had been being skinned strip by strip. It was a pitiful, agonizing sight and there hadn't been more than a drop of sorcery to remove. For Loki, who breathed and bled and thought magic? It would have been nothing less than the most agonizing of punishments and he'd _wanted_ it.

He wanted to be done.

It would have been a relief. It was custom for the royal family to be present for a punishment like that and Loki had watched for longer than anyone else, past when Thor's attention had drifted when the screaming had stopped, past when Frigga had bitten her lip and looked away, past when Odin had begun to look bored as if it happened every day. Loki had watched and seen that past the madness, there was a nothing in that soul's mind, ripped out with everything else to leave a husk, a shell, who couldn't speak or feel or do anything but dither.

There would be no happiness ever again, but there also would have been no pain.

Well, there might have been, but who would be able to tell from a mad thing?

Loki had watched until the entire hall was empty save for him and then he had proceeded to be spectacularly sick all over the golden floors.

What roiled in his stomach now was not much different.

"I hate you for this. I hate what you've done to me. You have ruined me, ruined me…"

Loki dropped his face into his palms and curled in on himself, a shadow in a dark room, a cold shadow next to the sun.

"Tell me how I might begin to make it count," Thor insisted, releasing his grip and shifting to begin brushing his knuckles against Loki's shoulder instead. He stiffened under the continued touch but bore it despite. He was unsure whether his anxiety stemmed from a desire to shove it away or from one to move closer. "I wish for your happiness. I wish for your heart to settle and to be at ease, but I do not know how to aid you."

Loki needed.

Maybe he had always needed, for one thing or for another, and he didn't know what he needed now but he knew that he _needed_. And he didn't know what it was or how he could get it, or even if it were impossible for someone like him.

Loki burned and froze and needed.

"I am myself," he said slowly, as if it were an afterthought and not a bombshell, "I am still myself."

"You have always been yourself."

"And who has that been, Thor Odinsson?"

Loki needed to stop this, to stop talking, to stop pushing, to stop trying. It _hurt_ and the look on Thor's face didn't help matters, all sad eyes and downturned lips and a telltale shivering in his knuckles that meant he was restraining himself from doing something. What that could be, Loki didn't know.

At his words, Thor slid off of the window seat and sunk down next to Loki. He didn't push his luck or try for a hug that would not be well-received, instead spreading his fingers out along Loki's collar, thumb scraping gently along his nape and studiously avoiding the band of metal and circuitry that restrained his magic.

"You are Loki. You are the most skilled sorcerer in the nine realms, a master of your words, and my only brother. You are as imperfect as I; no more and no less." Thor stilled and cocked his head, falling silent and watching the man next to him. "I have never been quite so ashamed of myself as I—" he stuttered but continued, "As I am when I think of what a piss-poor job I've done at looking after you, as the older of us—"

"Do not make me your project, Thor!" Loki snapped back, bristling instantly. Fingers continued to run patterns into the back of his neck, fingers that he had yet to shake off. "I am no one's _obligation_." The very word tasted bad in his mouth.

"It is not my obligation," Thor's words were as serious as he'd ever been in his life, with no hint of a joke or a jibe or a tease to be found, "It is my responsibility, my desire, and my pleasure. We are family, you and I, all others be damned. No matter whether we have disagreed, brawled, or misunderstood, you cannot take that from me. You cannot."

And Loki flinched.

"I have cared for myself for many a year," he said when he could find his breath, "I do not need you to start now."

"Need, perhaps not," Thor acknowledged and Loki wondered if he was remembering the same things he was, remembering all the times that Loki had played healer, had patched up scrapes and brushed hair back because Thor's horsetails always had lumps in them when he did them and sent elbows into his ribs to keep him from slouching. "But perhaps…you could want?"

"What does this count for?" Loki asked quietly, "Tomorrow, will you decide that it is nothing more than inconvenience?" There was an unspoken _as has happened before_. It didn't need to be said, they both heard it. "That it is a folly, brought on by a late hour and guilt? That it is easily forgotten when something more interesting comes along or when it becomes troublesome and a burden?"

"You will see," Thor informed him, "You will. I am weary of failing you and even more so of not noticing when I do until it is too late. You may trust this, and you will see even if it takes time."

Loki said nothing in reply, just ducked his head. Thor edged away and stood to take the steps across the room to retrieve the book that Loki had flung earlier. Unnecessarily, he brushed the cover as if to remove dust and returned, setting _The Phantom Tollbooth_ in Loki's slack hands.

"If it is alright with you, I would like to continue my reading of this tomorrow. Now, though, I think it best to try and get some sleep; I am unsure as to whether the hour is early or late. Will you rest as well?"

Still, Loki remained silent and after a moment of deliberation, Thor leaned down and pressed a brief, scratchy kiss to Loki's temple, no more than a brush of the lips and a testing stroke of dark hair and then backing away.

"Good night, brother. Mercy is not so disgusting as you think."

Loki had never been more aware of that address as he was now and somehow, just thinking it made something in his throat tighten up. He was still for so long that Thor was turning to leave the room by the time he finally responded.

"Good night, Thor."

And then there was silence once again. Loki thought that after all this, he would have treasured the still and the shadow. Some people sought others in times like this but Loki never had, preferring to hole up somewhere in solitude whenever he needed to think. He would lose track, oftentimes for whole days in a single span, and never be interrupted. Not once, not until he pulled himself out into the open. Loki had never been sure as to whether it had been because no one cared or because no one had ever been able to find him.

He'd thought that it didn't matter, that there was little difference.

Perhaps…perhaps it mattered more than he thought it did.

Loki rubbed his temples and wondered why the room felt more empty now instead of less crowded. Sleep would not come easily, not now, not when his head was full of thoughts and feelings that he didn't even know how to begin to sort out. Worst of all, though, was what mingled seamlessly between shame and fear and anger, sadness and humiliation: a warmth that may have been the beginnings of hope.

No, sleep would not come easily after this.

The idea of facing the rest of the night was a miserable one and Loki stared down at his lap to idly run fingers over his book.

A glint of moonlight reflected in the wooden cabinet by the bar, the one that he knew held Stark's alcohol.

That would be a terrible idea, he knew full well. Loki had never been one to indulge in drink often, unlike most everyone else he knew. Most people became merry and stupid and went on with their lives, he just got headaches and would spend the next day on the verge of throwing up and being mercilessly teased. It would only be worse with how he was feeling now, angry and sad and _hopeful_, the combination that was already making him feel rather sick.

Still, while it lasted it made things hazy and cloudy, and Loki felt he could use some hazy right about now, unhealthy and unpleasant as it was to deal with later.

That and it seemed to be his curse to be tempted by terrible ideas. What was one more to add?

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><p>AN2: Thank you so much for reading! If you feel like dropping me a comment or if you have anything at all to say, please leave a review! Even if what you have to say is critique, I appreciate it immensely and read every word. I might not always reply, but trust me when I say that I take everything you guys have to say with grace. It really makes my day to get feedback on my writing.<p> 


	29. Cinnabar

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Let me just say how ridiculously excited it makes me that in general, people really seem to like Caroline. She's a character very near and dear to my heart and I know that OCs can be off-putting and out of place, and the fact that the response to her is good makes me really super happy.<p>

On that note, I'd also like to mention how relieved I am that you guys feel that I'm handling the therapy itself well. I've never been to therapy and I know that it can be sensitive subject matter, so I've tried to approach it with the same sensitivity it deserves and not make it a joke. It would have been so easy to go the crack route, but I feel like that wouldn't have done the prompt justice at all.

Thank you all for your encouragement and praise and at time, criticism. I treasure every bit of it and it's because of you guys that I stay motivated to write and post here. I write for myself and I know that posting a work in a public arena opens you up to all sorts of response, and I won't beg for reviews or threaten to not write if I don't get them. However, I will thank you for all of it, for the reviews and the favorites and the alerts.

As a writer, it means so much to me.

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><p>Chapter Twenty-Nine: Cinnabar<p>

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><p>The room was dark when Caroline returned, warm and fizzy from good conversation, like a soothing salve spread over the aches and pains of the day. There was still an hour before she was due to speak to Nick Fury, plenty of time to put her things down, maybe get some reading done… She thought nothing of the darkness until she remembered the bruise on her shin, courtesy of stumbling in the night before and tripping over one of her bags.<p>

_Don't forget_, she'd told herself sternly before leaving that day, _Don't forget to leave a light on for tonight, not unless you want a matching set._

And she very clearly remembered leaving that light on, the one that sat next to the bed, the one with a base of antiqued copper, the one that gave away just how much someone else was paying for a _very_ nice room.

The one that wasn't on and was instead casting a dark shadow on an already dark wall.

…huh.

Caroline hovered in the doorway, a tendril of unease mixing with confusion.

Well, maybe one of the housekeepers turned it off earlier. It always got so bright during the day and with the large glass windows, covered now with curtains, it wasn't like she even needed the lights until sundown anyway.

A simple mistake, human error.

Nothing to be done for it, nothing to be upset about.

Caroline shook her head and stepped fully into the room, reaching out a hand to shut the door.

It closed before she could touch it.

Caroline froze where she stood. The almost inaudible turn and click of the lock rang in her ears like a gong. She couldn't hear anything, not the whisper of fabric nor padded footsteps on plush carpet, nothing outside of her own accelerated heartbeat.

She tried to squash it down and tried to keep from so much as breathing loudly, so intent was she on _finding_.

In the words of Tony Stark: Oh, _shit_.

She didn't know how long she stood there, stock still. Caroline Moran could have been a statue for as much as she moved in those long minutes. There was nothing she could fight with, nothing she could reach. She wasn't a hero, didn't have any super strength or a special suit or a magic hammer.

Not only was Caroline Moran not a hero, but she wasn't even a villain either.

Her keys were clenched tightly in a suddenly clammy fist and Caroline drew in a silent breath, still listening, still nothing. She did her best to not let them jingle as she shifted her grip so that instead of simply dangling from her fist, a key stuck out through the spaces between each finger, like claws or a set of MacGyver'd brass knuckles. If brass knuckles had ever been able to start a car, anyway.

Maybe, maybe if she was quick and lucky, she might be able to land a hit on whatever –whoever, Caroline reminded herself, whoever until shown otherwise- had closed the door and was currently –undoubtedly- lurking in the area behind her.

How did people decided to move when something like this happened?

She was a therapist, not a hero. This didn't happen to any therapists in any of the movies she'd seen. Then again…in most movies there were no therapists, which actually made a lot of sense in why everyone was always so messed up.

Oh god, oh god.

Without warning, Caroline found herself whipping around and lashing out a fist.

She caught nothing but air.

This time though there _was_ a sound, a quiet rustle, and she didn't have time to react before a strong arm had curled around her neck and hauling her backwards with a threatening squeeze.

"Let go of me!" She demanded and was rewarded with a chuckle in her ear.

"You are very brave, Miss Moran," the voice was entirely unfamiliar and Caroline scrabbled at the pressure on her throat, her fingernails scratching over what felt like metal, like some sort of armor. "You do yourself credit with your courage but if you'd like to keep your life, I would suggest that you cease your infernal struggling. I'd rather not have you dead, but it's your choice."

Caroline continued to test that theory until she began to see spots at the edge of her vision and her movements began to still. Her keys dropped from her hand to land on the carpeting with a jingle. The pressure alleviated when she went limp and air –precious, beautiful air- flooded her lungs. For a few moments, she could only gulp her breaths and the intruder took advantage of her weakness to shove her none too gently into the chair by the bed, wrenching her hands behind her back and tying them to the back.

"Why are you _doing _this?" she asked when she had enough breath to spare to speak. The room was still pitch dark and while her eyes were adjusting, she still had yet to see her mysterious captor.

"Come now, perhaps I'm shy and don't know how to speak to a pretty young lady such as yourself."

"Yeah, and perhaps I'm the newest Avenger," she spat right back, fear making her words quick and hasty. And stupid too, she told herself when a hand buried itself in her red hair and gave a rough yank. If she got out of this, there was going to be a haircut in her future, no doubt.

"You really ought to be more polite," the man –for he had to be a man- told her, sounding almost _disappointed_, "I wasn't kidding. I would prefer to keep you around for at least a little while, but what kind of genius doesn't carry an alternate?" His accent was interesting; subtle enough that Caroline couldn't place it but just thick enough to catch her attention, "Who wouldn't want to talk to you, the renowned Doctor Moran?"

"I'm not renowned," Caroline corrected firmly, low and quiet, "I'm just a doctor. That's all."

"A doctor who seems to have made phenomenal progress with the biggest thorn in my side that I have ever encountered."

By now, Caroline was blinking into the darkness, watching the shadow of someone very large pacing behind her. Her insides went cold. …Loki? Was this about _Loki_?

"He's really just so difficult to deal with," the shadow man continued as if she hadn't reacted at all, "He really doesn't think much of us 'puny mortals', does he? Insufferable fool, I'll be teaching him his place soon enough. The humility will be good for him, at least until I take his life."

Oh god, this _was_ about Loki.

Crap.

"So much power, so much _potential_, and he squanders it so. The things he could _do_…He is brilliant in ways that none but I can understand. But also such an idiot."

And wow, if Caroline had a few minutes to think on this without worrying about being killed, the conclusions she could come to about this guy… It sounded almost like he had a _crush_. A possessive, angry crush, the kind that led to people being shot in the bedroom while they slept at night, but a crush nonetheless.

She wondered if Loki had a clue.

She suspected that he likely did but that was nothing new, it often seemed like he knew everything and simply chose to discard and ignore everything he found irrelevant. It didn't mean he didn't know.

"How did you even find out about me?"

"Oh, it was difficult at first. You have some very intense security. Almost impenetrable, in fact. You're a hard woman to find, SHIELD must be having a field day over keeping you under wraps. Someone's keeping people quiet over the mysterious woman visiting Tony Stark's home every day and the very mysterious disappearance of a notorious supervillain." That was news to her. In retrospect, she probably should have realized that something was off about being able to be so anonymous. "Until I realized, as a genius would, that the weakest link would be you yourself. What did you think of Joseph? Realistic, isn't he? It took me a long time to get the mannerisms right and he takes so _long_ to charge. Almost not worth it."

Caroline went cold.

No. No, no, no.

_Hell_ no.

The man just kept talking, ignoring her in favor of tooting his own horn.

"It was almost _too_ easy. I'd tell you all about it, but I doubt you'd understand."

"What do you think you're going to do?"

"Oh, nothing of consequence, really. Just taking advantage of Loki being so perfectly powerless and putting him out of his misery right alongside his jailers. The true meaning of killing two birds with one stone, only this is more along the lines of six mosquitoes with a flyswatter made of Doombots. An opportunity like that only comes along once, dear lady, and who would I be if I let it slip by?"

_A sane human being_, Caroline wanted to say, but held her tongue. She didn't do insane. She did pain, she did grief, she did anger, and apparently she did have her foot in the door when it came to supervillains but Loki had always been sane, never had this unhinged sort of mania that made her feel unsafe even though she hadn't yet been hurt.

She used to watch a lot of horror movies as a child and the scariest ones always had a villain who got into her head first.

It was also true in real life, apparently.

"That's what you do with aggressive beasts, isn't that right? Disobedient animals get put down and dear Loki has been on top for too long. It's gone to his head and he forgets his place. He thinks he can _control_ me, that he can _intimidate_ me with the rest of those cowardly fools?" The man was spitting mad and pacing back and forth with agitation. Were he Loki, this would be about the time that he'd be walking out the door and slamming it behind him.

Loki would also return the next week without fail, subdued and with an apology on his tongue.

This person was nothing at all like Loki.

"Thinking that he can control me with his rules and his threats and his spells…we shall be seeing how that goes and I will make him beg even as the light goes out of his eyes."

Caroline shuddered.

"You'll never get in."

Her words were cut off with a gasp when this time, it was less of a warning tug and her head was yanked backward by the hair until she was staring up at the ceiling.

A tall, man-shaped figure was looming over her and what little light to be had in the room glinted off of a dark, shining mask.

"You seem to be under the misconception that I'm here for fun or that I lack a use for you, my dear. You will be the one to gain me access to that house. Do not worry, I'll be sure to give your regards to that dog before I kill him. A shame, though, that you won't be alive to give them yourself. For now, however…"

And Caroline had no warning before a blow was struck and the world fizzled out in a thud.

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><p>Whoever thought that it was a good goddamn idea to bother Tony Goddamn Stark at this kind of hour was seriously going to get a kick in the face, Tony decided when there was a sharp rap on his bedroom door.<p>

"Fuck off," he growled into his pillow and rolled over, fully intending to go right back to dreamland. Where he _belonged_. There was another knock and this time, he yanked the covers over his head. "JARVIS, bust out the laser beams. If there's not a scorch mark on the floor by morning, you're hitting the recycle bin."

"Sir, you might want to open the door." JARVIS intoned, and sweet merciful Christ, Tony was so happy that he decided against trying to give him a face because with his luck, JARVIS would be the smuggest sonovagun to grace the planet.

"What? Hell no, I don't. I don't care if it's Thor out there wanting a goddamn bedtime story, I'm _sleeping_." Tony snapped. End of story. Another knock, this time quieter and more tentative, as if the knocker was preparing to leave. Good. Whatever it was could wait until morning.

"No, really. You really might want to get up and open the door."

Aw, hell's bells.

Tony dragged himself out of bed and trudged to the door. He flung it open with a clatter, ready to eviscerate whoever was on the other side… And stilled entirely, eyes going wide.

The noise of the door slamming back against the wall hadn't startled Loki in the slightest.

"What the—? It's like, four in the morning. You also look like shit."

"I s-simply thought I ought to info— infirm— tell you that you might want to consider buying more alcohol." The guy actually mixed up his words. Loki, the guy who practically invented choosing one's words carefully, had just mixed them up. Not only that, but he'd then given up and settled on something simpler.

Tony felt an ominous feeling settle in his stomach even as he broached the question,

"Why would I need to- oh my god. Sweet Mary, did you _actually_ clear out my liquor cabinet?"

"Don't worry," Was that supposed to be reassuring? "I didn't drink all of it. Just all that was left."

Tony's jaw dropped.

"Oh my _god_. How are you not dead?"

"Not sure, really. It's a good question. Tried, a few times back. As you can see, it didn't take."

"Holy shit, you are so drunk. Like, do you have any idea how shitfaced you are right now? You would not be telling me these things if you weren't."

"It's okay, though. It won't- I can't-" And suddenly, Loki swayed to sag against the wall. What little color had been in his face had drained until he was ghost pale, dark hair disheveled and ill at rights. "I don't feel good."

"Yeah, no shit you don't feel good if you drank my whole stash. Haven't you ever heard not to mix grape and grain? You're lucky you're not collapsed with alcohol poisoning. What the hell were you thinking, pal?" Tony was suddenly aware of how parental those words had sounded -hypocritical, too- and wasn't that just the scariest thing?

Loki's gaze was slightly hazy and unfocused, as if he were listening intently to something that only he could hear and didn't have a scrap of leftover attention for anything that Tony was saying.

"Oi," Tony snapped his fingers to get the other man's attention. "You need to go sleep that off. You'll be having fun tomorrow with this one..."

"Don't wanna."

"What are you, four? Bad decisions are best slept off. Trust me on this; most of my bad decisions involve booze of some kind. ...Aaaaaaand the face of the peanut gallery says _no comprendo_."

For Loki now refused to look at him, averting his gaze and studiously ignoring him with dedication, choosing instead to try and make a valiant effort to drag himself off the wall and to somewhere else, probably the couch.

"For someone who likes to call everyone else stupid, you're a real idiot yourself sometimes. You know that?"

Loki glared and didn't respond. The circles under his eyes that had gone away with some rest were back and Tony couldn't help wondering when he'd stopped sleeping again. Or maybe it was simply the combination of the alcohol, the late hour, and the fact that Loki was already so pale.

Or maybe Tony was crazy.

He eyed Loki for a moment and nodded. Definitely, definitely crazy. He remembered an evening not too long ago that hadn't been much different from this, only that that time _both_ of them had been trashed and whiny and Tony remembered a warm and unexpectedly pliant body next to him and limbs tangled up with his and Cap shooting the both of them disapproving looks as if Loki was a misbehaving deviant just like the rest of them.

"Okay, new rule. Next time you wanna drown some bad memories, tell me and we'll get tankered. I can't freaking _believe_ you downed all of it without me." Loki didn't look impressed by the lecture or even remotely shamefaced, he just looked miserable and a little bit sick. "Even the unopened ones, geez... You're not much of a drinker, are you?" Because if Loki did this regularly, he would not have been so freaking difficult to fight.

"Last time this bad was about five hundred years ago. That had actually been w-worse."

"Jesus. You really are a fucking mess, aren't you? And probably a total lightweight in Asgard," Tony breathed, taking note of Loki's red-rimmed eyes and the way he moved as if everything hurt. "If you're going to self-medicate, at least make sure you can take it first."

"Your compliments are most appreciated," Loki snapped back, tone muddied with intoxication and a misery badly disguised as anger, "Do forgive me, I'll be sure to remember next time to not bother attempting c-courte-courtesy. I just thought I'd l-let you know…" His voice shook and Tony realized that _that_ at least didn't stem from the drink. His eyes had gone suspiciously shiny.

Fuck.

So apparently, one or two or five drinks merely loosened his tongue, made him more relaxed and willing to joke, made it easier for him to lower those spines of his.

More than that (read: probably about eight or ten unopened bottles if Tony remembered his inventory) and Loki skipped both Tony's belligerent stage _and_ his fuck-anything-that-moves stage and went straight to the tears.

Fuck.

"Uh-uh," he insisted, stepping forward and shaking his head, "Do not cry. Jesus, do not cry. Do you have any idea of what Thor will do to me if he sees you standing outside my door crying? He will do something awful to me and be insufferable. Forever. Please don't."

"I'm not crying," Loki grumbled as he reached up and scrubbed roughly at his cheeks. His hands came away wet. "I'm not crying. Just—just, my eyes are watering."

That wasn't helping his case.

"Yeah, because I believe that for even half a second," Tony quipped and wondered if he ought to try harder to send him on his way. If he could just go to bed and get some sleep, the crying jag would wear off and Tony wouldn't risk getting a punch in the jaw from an overprotective Asgardian prince.

Loki sniffed.

Aw, _fuck_.

Tony sighed and stepped away from the door, pushing it further open at the same time.

"Hey. You slept okay here last time, right?"

Loki didn't move but Tony did, reaching out to take the other man by the shoulder to draw him forward, into the room and out of the hallway. He _had_ to be crazy at this point. No other possibilities. Loki didn't resist the tugging, moving as directed until Tony had sat him firmly down on the bed.

"C'mon, drunky. Lay down, chill out, and go the fuck to sleep. You hear me? Go to sleep. I hope you're happy; Cap'll probably yell at me even though this is so not my fault, and so help me if _Thor_ yells at me, it's on your head and I'll be throwing you under the bus over it." Tony just let himself ramble and wondered when his life had shifted to involve giving up his bed for weepy Norse gods. The more he talked, the more Loki relaxed and gave into the pressure still being exerted on his shoulders, the pressure that encouraged him to lie down against the pillows. "You're fine, don't cry. Just no more booze for you for a while. Like Pepper says, no drinking when you're feeling shitty; it always gets out of hand."

Way to be a massive hypocrite, Tony.

God, this was some surreal shit. Like the Twilight Zone or something, but in full color and no gremlins on the wing of the quinjet.

…yet.

Loki shifted a little as if to try and bury himself, rubbing his nose in the pillowcase.

"Why are you bein' so nice to me?" he slurred, "People aren't nice, not to me. Not unless you want somethin'. Out a' magic, though. Magic's my thing; no one else can do the things I can do."

God, it was like herding cats.

Really drunk, really sad cats.

"Loki," And Tony could count on one hand how many times he'd used Loki's given name to his face in all the time he'd been a not-prisoner here, "Close your eyes. Calm down, it's fine. You don't have to go anywhere, you don't have to do anything. All I want you to do is sleep this off. You'll feel less like throwing yourself off the roof when you do."

Okay, so after Thor had spilled the story about the Bifrost, maybe that particular joke was in bad taste.

Loki didn't seem to notice though and clumsily tried to pull the blankets up over his head, curling up into a small ball underneath them. Tony sat on the edge of the bed and watched him, wondering when he might actually settle and let all of them get some needed rest.

"Sorry," he was murmuring, and Tony rather thought he was past the point of actually addressing him even though the green eyes occasionally flickered in his direction, "'M sorry, 'm sorry."

"What for?"

"_Everything_,"

All it took was that one broken word and Tony had shaken off his reservations, leaning forward to drape an arm around Loki's shoulder and hold, feeling tremors running through his bones. How could he do anything less? How could he, when someone with so many years was looking so damn much like an upset kid?

Far from rejecting the touch, Loki curled into it and Tony couldn't help wondering whether that could be attributed to the alcohol as well or whether he just had a latent cuddly streak that had never been indulged. He found that he didn't care all that much and indulged his own closely guarded cuddly streak, flopping down next to him and pulling the bundle of god and blankets against his chest.

Well, it could have been worse.

At least they'd probably both sleep this way if the incident a few weeks back had anything to say about it.

There was a definite warmth seeping into his shoulder, Tony noted, and Loki shook like some terrified wild thing, every skinny, lanky inch of him huddling closer and recoiling by turn as if burned. Tony rode it all out in silence and couldn't help but think about just how much power he had to hurt right now. It would be so very, very easy.

He'd be lying if he said that he hadn't fantasized –usually after being flung out of a window, _again_- about how best to get under Loki's skin, to wound him in a little bit of payback for being such a violent dick all the time. If he ever wanted a chance, it was now because it would have been so _easy_.

That opportunity was dancing naked in front of him and Tony couldn't make himself take it.

Loki was still mumbling nonsensically into his chest and Tony listened closely to realize that he was still apologizing. For everything, apparently. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Yeah, easy like kicking a goddamn puppy.

"Calm down, calm down, you're fine," Tony said softly, as if he could actually do anything to help. He knew full well that it was pointless, that Loki wasn't listening, knew exactly what it felt like when the alcohol that made everything so much easier also made everything so much darker. "You're okay, it's okay."

Oh, it was all comforting, soothing nonsense and he prayed that by morning, Loki wouldn't remember a damn bit of it.

No one deserved to hurt like that.

For a good while it appeared that nothing was having an effect and Tony was beginning to resign himself to not getting any sleep at all until suddenly, there was. If he hadn't been so focused he might have caught on faster when Loki's trembling wasn't quite so violent and he didn't push away so much as he seemed almost afraid to move.

"'m sorry," he repeated.

"Yeah, I know. Easy, there…"

Hands tangled in dark hair and finally, _finally_, the tension began to drain out of Loki's frame.

Loki went slack and relaxed, shifting to draw himself closer and tuck his face into Tony's collarbone.

"There," Tony muttered to him, lowly under his breath, "Better, right?" He adjusted the blankets, tugging the end up to slide underneath them. If he was going do this he was going to do it right, and right wasn't spending the rest of the night (morning? Whatever.) on top of his own bed or on the couch, hell to the no. It was a little weirder now that he didn't have his own drunkenness to buffer the situation but Loki didn't hesitate in twisting an arm around Tony's waist, long hands a firm and steady presence on his hips.

He wondered if he ought to have maybe gotten Cap in here instead; they seemed to get along well, as well as Loki generally allowed himself to get along with anyone, anyway. Despite actually being younger than most of them (Because Tony didn't care what anyone said, the seventy or so years he'd spent frozen did _not_ count), Steve tended to lean towards being the caretaking type and given the opportunity would probably have managed better with this whole thing than him. Or even Thor—then again, Thor was a delicate subject on a normal day, never mind something like this.

So really, it was up to Tony.

Never let it be said that he shied away from a challenge.

Not, of course, that Loki was being all that much of a challenge right now. No, it seemed that he'd come down from outright crying and was back in that warm –cuddly, cuddly, _cuddly_-, manageable stage.

"Someone in your family did not get touched enough and I really don't think it was Thor," Tony couldn't resist saying. It wasn't the first time he'd thought such a thing and it wouldn't be the last. "JARVIS, lights." The room went dark again and Loki sighed into his jugular, calming slowly as if sedated.

Hug drugs?

Tony could make a _killing_ off of something like that.

"Comfy?"

"You're warm…" Loki breathed quietly as he nudged a knee in between both of Tony's and curled around him like some overgrown feline, fingers slipping up underneath the hem of his shirt to brush skin.

"That's generally how body heat works, genius," Tony replied absently, letting himself relax. Yeah, sure, he now officially had a supervillain god in his bed, but hey? At least he was comfy and no one was _crying_. Especially the crying part. And the comfy part. And all of it, really. For a good while there was silence and Tony felt himself relaxing.

There was nothing wrong with snuggling, right?

Right?

Damn straight, Tony Stark could snuggle until _all_ the bitches gave up.

And then there was a quiet humming coming from somewhere around his collarbone and it took _way_ too long to register that it was coming from Loki, a slightly slurred tune with words that Tony couldn't make out and a melody he didn't know. Maybe something from Asgard? Or maybe something he made up himself.

Or maybe it was nothing more than a drunken man trying to make things okay.

Tony just gathered him closer and closed his eyes for sleep.

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><p>AN2: Thank you for reading! If you have anything to say, please leave a review and let me know! I really treasure every bit of feedback, even if I might decide to not listen to it.<p> 


	30. Emerald

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: You guys are super amazing, thanks so much for all the feedback, alerts, and favorites! That so many people like this story that I've worked so hard on and fallen so in love with…it's a little overwhelming. I hope you all continue to enjoy this; your support and encouragement mean so much to me.<p>

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><p>Chapter Thirty: Emerald<p>

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><p>Okay, so Caroline tended to try and avoid using the word 'crazy' to describe people. It was rude and assuming and not in her nature. She preferred clinical terms, like psychotic or antisocial, those words that helped buffer the impact, make it seem a little less real and a little more specific, made it seem a little less like these were <em>people<em>. It also helped that she had never had a patient that she would classify as legitimately insane. Bipolar, obsessive-compulsive, manic-depressive, just depressed…those were not 'crazy'. Those were not 'evil'. Those were not 'insane'.

Insanity was for the asylums, not for therapists who specialized in grief and family counseling and who ran tiny private practices in New York.

Stuff like this didn't happen to people like Caroline.

Crazy was for the asylums, for the cells, for the people whose files that even Caroline wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole.

Crazy was Victor von Doom, who seemed to have it in his head that he could bully her into letting him murder her patient.

Caroline had woken up in what appeared to be an honest to god cave. A cave. A _lair_. If the situation hadn't been so dire she might have laughed, because she'd asked Loki once, -jokingly but only half-kidding- if he had a lair, and the man had looked at her like she had a screw loose.

_That's just gratuitous_, he'd said, sounding like the very idea was an insult to him. _Who needs a lair? A professional can do his work anywhere._ And that was just so much like Loki that she couldn't help but laugh in response. He had looked so pleased with that, like he'd hoped that it would amuse her and that her laughter had been a reward.

She was tied to another chair now, next to a desk. For a lair –a lair!- with so much technology and advanced equipment that stretched from wall to wall with just enough space for natural stone to show through, none of which she recognized except CCTV screens, there were precious few amenities. Two chairs –a plush one and one that looked to be for interrogation, guess which she was tied to?-, a desk, a door that went elsewhere. There was a monitor on the desk that hooked up to a tower next to her chair but it was tilted away from her and nor could she pull herself away enough to see what it might show. Next to the monitor was a full cup of coffee, still steaming.

No windows either, of course.

_Damn_.

She didn't even know what time it was, much less where in the world she could even be. She felt like hadn't slept in weeks and she didn't know how long she'd been sitting here in silence, trying to get a feel for the situation.

So far, the only conclusion that Caroline had come to was that if she ever got out of this, she was going to go to the local vet clinic and see if they would be willing to microchip her and stick her in the system, or maybe stick one of those tracers they used on giant pandas into one of her kidneys or something.

It only took one kidnapping for it to become a trend and damnit, _no_.

She was currently alone but not for long, for the door that led elsewhere slammed open and Doctor Doom entered in a whirl of fabric. _Excessively dramatic_, a voice that sounded distinctly like Loki drawled in the back of her head. If he'd been here, he'd likely be doing that infuriating thing where he tapped a finger on his chin and stared like you were the dumbest dumb thing he'd ever seen in his life.

It rarely failed to rile people up.

"I hope the accommodations are to your liking," he said and Caroline bit back her reply. There was a huge difference between this person and Loki despite the association.

Loki burned things and made buildings crumble and occasionally filled nursing homes with stray cats, but he wasn't _cruel _and he didn't hurt civilians, who he saw as irrelevant and undeserving of even his ire. He didn't kidnap people. He didn't _kill_ people. Doom was notorious for all of these things.

"I thought you were still playing your games with the Fantastic Four."

"They can wait," God, somehow being able to see his eyes through the slats in the mask was creepier than it should have been, "Loki brought this on himself, you know. Trying to box me in like I'm one of his lackeys…"

"You've still yet to say what exactly you intend to do with me. I hope you know that I have no intention of opening the door and letting you waltz in—"

There was a shine of a blade toward her face and Caroline flinched on instinct. It cut through her ponytail instead and she gasped, craning her head to see the mass of red lying on the floor. Well, there went the haircut.

Doom stooped down and picked it up.

Creepy, creepy, creepy.

"Come now, I know you don't think much of me but I am not that stupid," he informed her, "It's quite simple, really. The house is well-defended by the security system but that is not the danger and if I may remind you, I am a genius. Lure the heroes elsewhere and it will be child's play. Without his magic, Loki will have nothing to help him. And if they need a hint, all I have to do is send this. Then if they delay, perhaps a hand. Perhaps even your head after that."

"What, and you think that kidnapping me will send out an _entire_ team of heroes? That will never work. One, maybe. All of them? Not a chance in hell."

He ran his fingers through the bound hair in his hands and smiled. Caroline felt something sick settle in her stomach.

"To keep _him_ in line? I daresay, I think it will."

And it was strange and unexpected, but Caroline found herself remembering Loki's words from yesterday, the ones that had caught her so off guard.

"_There was nothing to worry about because I could __**fix**__ it. Everything was easy to manage; little things here and there. A scrape, a fracture… a burn. No, no. I was __**angry**__."_

She suddenly wasn't sure whether she felt more worried or strangely reassured.

* * *

><p>To hell with being the god of lies and trickery, Loki decided when his brain could make words instead of pained, nonsensical groans. He was going to make proper documentation and then he was requesting a change of title to the patron god of bad decisions because this one? The one he'd made that led to him waking up in Stark's bed, <em>again<em>?

That was the very definition of bad decision.

At least he'd slept long enough that he'd been alone when he'd awoken.

The sight of Stark's smirking face looming over him might have been the very last thing he'd want to see, especially with the hangover he had right now, all trumpets and fireworks and blast it all, everything was awful.

_Never again_, he told himself firmly. Never, ever again.

"You are awake, then."

Loki shot bolt upright in bed and immediately slumped over to hold his head.

Sudden movement: bad. Sudden light: bad. Sudden anything: bad.

"You should know better."

"Shut up, Thor," he moaned into his palms, "Lecture later. Actually, lecture never. I'm the one who lectures."

"I might start…" Thor muttered under his breath in reply and Loki glared in the direction of the ceiling until the lights dimmed to a still uncomfortable but manageable level. "How are you feeling?"

Loki shifted his glare from the ceiling to the man who fancied himself his brother.

"How do you think I'm feeling?" he snapped and Thor scowled at him.

"Perhaps if you refrained from drinking irresponsibly, you wouldn't feel so terrible."

And really, the only response for that was the deliberate tweak of the tip of his thumb between his teeth. Loki ignored Thor's vaguely offended huff at the insult and hauled himself out of bed. He hadn't even changed his clothes. He really, _really_ should know better by now.

The memories from last night, which had been dulled, were sharp and clear in his mind now and Loki remembered all of it with a sort of detached horror because if he got too close to that, he'd have to crawl back in bed and never face the light of day again.

"This requires a shower," he announced, all the while make a vain effort to straighten himself back to rights: adjusting and tugging his wrinkled shirt and trousers back into place, fingers brushing through his hair. What a wreck. Loki paused as he passed the window.

The sun was high in the sky, past noon at least.

"What time is it?" he asked.

Thor furrowed his brows.

"The kitchen time piece says thirty past three," he replied.

"She's late."

Thor voiced a question but Loki didn't hear, pushing past him to slip into the hallway.

"JARVIS, what is the time?"

"The current time is 3:47."

Doctor Moran was never late. She just wasn't. Loki didn't know how she managed with the traffic but she had never once been a minute late in the whole time she'd been here, nor had she ever been anything but punctual in New York. This wasn't normal.

This wasn't normal at all.

Loki forced himself to ignore the headache and the way the light hurt his eyes and abruptly changed direction, making a beeline for the room considered his and scrambling to pick up his phone. The number was dialed, the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

"_Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Doctor Caroline Moran. I'm unavailable to take your call at the moment; please leave a message or try my office phone at 212-864-4458. Thank you!"_

Loki lowered the phone from his ear and let the dial tone buzz.

That had never happened before either. She was as meticulous about keeping her telephone on her as he was about his hair. She wouldn't just leave it somewhere, especially not if she was late, not when she wasn't available any other way, not when she'd _promised_.

Loki remembered a conversation a ways back, back when they had first started their sessions. It was just before the very first had ended and before he had walked out the door, the doctor had pressed a folded slip of paper into his hands.

"_This is my cell phone number. If you have an emergency or need someone and you can't call the office, call this. I promise you, I'll answer. No matter what time it is, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. If you need me, call me and I'll answer."_

Loki wondered if she'd seen, as he hadn't yet been able to, how much of a risk he was, how far he'd fallen, and just how many pieces of him were scattered all over the ground and waiting to be crushed underfoot. He wondered if she had known that it would only be when he was at his most low and desperate that he would ever dial that number, that he wouldn't take advantage of her generosity.

He wondered if she had known, as he hadn't, just how much he needed assurance like that.

He'd tested that promise more than once when sleep came difficult and his thoughts were dark and heading darker, into territory that even he could see wasn't healthy.

The first time, the second, the third… he hadn't been able to say a thing. All he'd been able to do was breathe raggedly, overwhelmed and shocked and so _relieved_ that she hadn't lied to him. She hadn't let him down or made a promise that she wouldn't keep. She answered without fail every single time, never once sounding upset or annoyed or like he'd interrupted anything.

And then, when he next stepped into her office, she wouldn't ignore those calls. She wouldn't sweep them under the rug or pretend like they hadn't happened to spare his pride and Loki had spent many a time horribly embarrassed, slouching in that brown leather chair and talking about how he had felt and why and it was _awful_.

And then in the end she would thank him for trusting her and Loki would feel something tense loosen up inside him and until the next low point he would feel better. Those low points got less common as time went on and he made fewer calls, but he was never under any impression that the option was ever off the table.

If he needed her, he could call.

Now Doctor Moran was late and unavailable and Loki felt uneasy, the unexpected tension and sudden lash of concern making him slightly nauseous right along with the hangover.

This wasn't right at all.

Caroline Moran was the most honest, punctual, and reliable person he had ever met and now she was suddenly out of range.

Thor was waiting for him outside his bedroom but Loki had no time for that. He had to find the one person in this house who had the most information about anything at any given time (other than himself, of course) and who, coincidentally, might have been about the last person he wanted to see.

"Loki, be still a moment and let me speak to you—"

"Be quiet, not the time for this. JARVIS! Where in damnation is Stark?" He snapped to the ceiling.

"You are just so charming. And _polite_, my goodness," the program answered him, sounding huffy. Loki rolled his eyes and stopped short, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

"Where. Is. Stark."

"Well, you wouldn't be the first angry booty call to tear through here—"

Loki's eye began to twitch.

"He's in the kitchen,"

"Thanks for nothing, insolent swine," Loki muttered and bolted down the stairs, skidding into the doorway. He wasn't quiet about it either and his arrival made everyone in the room look up. Tony and Bruce were hovering over a laptop, while Natasha and Clint sat in chairs like normal people. Steve was leaning on the counter, eating a very distinctly not-burned panini.

And then Thor, who had been on Loki's heels, caught up and ran into him.

"Mornin', sweetie," Tony said without looking up as Loki picked himself up off the floor and dusted off his trousers.

"Where is she?" he asked without hesitation. There was no point in elaborating; everyone knew who 'she' was. Tony dropped the sleazy grin and sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his temples. "Well?"

"Thor, I kinda thought the plan was to head this off. You were supposed to _tell him_. You know, in a calm and soothing manner that would keep anything from being leveled."

Thor made a vague 'the hell do you want from me?' gesture that Loki ignored entirely.

"I did try."

"Would one of you morons just tell me where in Valhalla my therapist is?" Loki snapped over the din, "And why exactly no one thought to wake me when clearly you all know something I don't?"

"Will wonders never cease? Loki admits that there's something he doesn't know." Tony turned back to the laptop and Loki fumed behind him, trying desperately to stay his hands that clenched at his sides as if begging and pleading to strangle him. "Maybe it was because you were passed out in my bed at the time. How's the head, darlin'?"

"I am going to _kill_ you—" Loki stepped forward to possibly try and back up his words but a hand dropping to his shoulder stopped him.

"Brother, calm yourself."

Loki closed his eyes for a moment and stood silently. He was being hasty and abnormally aggressive, he knew full well. Hasty was unlike him. He could wait, he could be patient. He'd spent _years_ being patient, centuries being patient. Thor was the one who jumped into a situation without knowing anything about it, without hearing all the details, without hearing the people behind him telling him to _stop_.

At least, he had been.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed and released and Loki released his breath with it, opening his eyes again and moving to fully enter the room.

"Details, Stark," he demanded.

He could wait, he could wait, even though everything in him screamed to ignore it all and act.

Tony watched him closely, clearly debating on whether or not he ought to give up those details or go back to what he was doing. The angry green glare that fixed on him and didn't waver apparently made up his mind.

"Okay, so she didn't check in with Fury for the nightly report. He thought that was pretty hinky and sent some people over. When they got there, she was gone. Nothing was missing or out of place, just the doctor. Security cameras show that she got to the hotel and into the room without a problem but there's nothing that shows anyone leaving. She's just…gone."

A lump of ice settled in Loki's stomach when he began and then melted into anger by the end.

How dare—how _dare—_

"Whoa, cool it down there, tiger. Fury contacted us this morning about it and sent us data-gathering. He's got people on it too. Once we've got some leads, Thor's going to—"

Loki's hands traveled to the band around his neck and gave a sharp, useless tug.

"You will release me," he demanded, anger making him sharp and testy. "You will remove this and I will deal with it."

Tony snorted unattractively.

"Oh. Ohohohoho. I don't think so."

Loki clenched his jaw to keep from punching Tony in his.

"Hey, we'll take care of it," Steve commented from the other side of the kitchen. He spoke calmly, as one would to a cornered cat, "She doesn't have any enemies, who would want to kidnap a therapist? We'll find her and get her back and everything will be fine."

Loki ran pale hands through his hair and forced himself to settle, to quiet, to not yank at that collar again. He hadn't missed Tony's sharp, speculative glance at the motion and he'd rather keep from drawing attention to it for the time being.

_No, of course she doesn't have enemies!_ He wanted to shout to the sky, _But I do._

He had to get out of here.

"Fine is not a word I put trust in," Loki replied stiffly and studiously avoided Thor's own scrutinizing gaze. The bulkier man had come up to stand beside him and was watching him intently as if Loki was a challenging book. His scrutiny was more dangerous than Stark's; Thor had history with him, Stark did not. Thor knew the tendencies that none of the others did, knowledge that only came from centuries of being together.

If anyone was going to be the one to predict him, it would be Thor, and Loki had no intention of letting him do such a thing.

"It'll be fine, I promise," Steve repeated and Loki gave him what he wanted: a Loki-like gesture that would calm his own nerves. Loki straightened up to his full height, cocked his head, and curled his lip in a resentful sneer. He didn't have to fake it despite the heartbeat pounding in his head, the one that meant that the game was on and he'd just made his move.

The anticipation was an old friend.

"You must be kidding. You have no idea what you're doing," Loki insisted and he didn't have to fake that either. The disdain was entirely real but not for reasons anyone but him would know. They hadn't a clue.

This had one person written all over it.

Written like a game.

Loki knew plenty of people who played games, himself included, but only one person would dare play this kind of game with him. There was only one person who would think so highly of himself.

All eyes were still on him and Loki folded his arms over his chest. Defensive, they'd want defensive. Probably some more sneer, too. He gave them what they wanted: anger, irritation. It was an anger to be used as a costume to mask the kind that pulsed through him now, something that seared and froze at the same time and reminded him suddenly of what it had felt like to be mad and chaotic.

He was focused this time.

It was different.

This wasn't the same.

"You will—"

"_Loki_," Steve said firmly, stepping forward. Loki eyed him warily. The step he took backwards wasn't planned and he backed right in to Thor in his effort to get away. "It'll be okay. We'll find her. Just…leave it to us for now?"

"Don't be stupid, Rogers. You don't know where to _go_, you don't know what to _do_."

"So help us out, then. Tell us where to go or how to get it done. But we'll take care of it ourselves; that's what we _do_. "

Loki sent a sharp glance to Thor, demanding, ordering, begging him to say something to the contrary.

He said nothing and shifted uncomfortably under Loki's stare, as if he wanted nothing more than to look away.

"What? Say something, Thor. Say something righteous about justice and duty and how this task was assigned to _you_. Come on, out with it." Loki goaded him mercilessly, venom dripping with every word in time to the throbbing in his head. "Say you don't trust me to do what I say. Say I'm a liar, that I'm going to run off and abandon it all and leave you to pick up the pieces. _Say it_."

"_Loki_…"

No.

Loki shut him down with an audible sigh, breathing harshly through his nose and barely keeping his hands from lashing out and shaking all of them back and forth. He was angry and he was helpless and he'd brought this all on himself by being…whatever he was.

"You are going to get yourself _killed_," he spat, "And it will be your own, thickheaded fault."

And Loki _definitely_ didn't have to fake the rage running up and down his frame when he turned on a heel, away from Rogers, away from Thor, and walked right out of the room without another word.

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><p>AN2: Thank you all for reading! If you enjoyed this, please shoot me a review and tell me what you liked, what you disliked, anything!<p> 


	31. Mercury

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Thirty-One: Mercury<p>

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><p>"Are you sure it's a good idea to leave him alone?" Steve asked when everything was silent again and they'd heard a slam of a door upstairs. "He seems kind of, um…upset." To say the least. "Maybe someone should go and—"<p>

"He will not appreciate it," Thor interjected, voice short and upset and to everyone's discomfort, ominously torn. As if any second, he could change his mind.

"Yeah, so he's pissed off," Tony replied absently, still typing endlessly on the keyboard, pulling up maps and cameras and so much useless information that it would make anyone else's head explode, "Would you rather tell him that yeah, he's right and we don't have a single, goddamn lead? Yeah, that'll go well. I'm pulling up CCTV from her route home right now, seems she stopped and got a drink before she—oh my god."

"What?"

The reaction was immediate and it wasn't two seconds later that there was a crowd, like a small and too personal football huddle crowded around the laptop.

"Hey, hey, personal space!" Tony grumbled, edging away from Thor who was staring at the computer like he wanted to crawl inside it, "Back up, you guys, back up—except you, Tasha. You can stay." He winked and Natasha glared at him and took a very deliberate step back. "That's my tech!"

All they could see what a slightly grainy, black and white picture of the doctor sitting on a stool next to an older gentleman with a briefcase.

"What do you mean, your tech?" Steve asked, leaning closer to take a look, "She's just sitting with a guy—"

"No, no, that guy _is_ my tech!" Tony insisted, "Back when I was designing JARVIS, I had this brilliant idea that I'd give him a real body. It'd also be useful for the military, if I got it up to the point that we could mix them with the soldiers."

"That is just way too _I, Robot_ for me…" Clint muttered, a disturbed look on his face. It was matched on everyone else's.

Tony flipped him the bird.

"Yeah, why d'you think it didn't pan out? Sure as hell wasn't because I couldn't do it," he snapped and zoomed in on the picture. Not on the man but on the briefcase. Closer and closer until it took up the whole screen. "See? Take a look at the hinges? They're solid; that thing doesn't open. And he puts it down but never stops touching it…see? It's a power source. That's how I know it's mine—aside from the fact that I know that model, the power source was a serious problem."

"Ooooh, the great Tony Stark can't make a robot with an internal power source? Shame, shame," Natasha chided, eyeing the glowing circle in his chest dubiously. Couldn't get much more internal than that.

"Quiet, you. This is _old_ and still better than most that's out there. Cut a guy some slack."

Tony stabbed at the keyboard as if personally offended. Actually, he was. Yeah, this wasn't the first time someone had used something he'd made for something bad, but _really_? His butler? That really just wasn't cool. Whoever had done this was a giant, giant bag of dicks. Could they have gone after something a little more cliché, like a nuke?

"You are angry now," Thor commented.

"You bet your caped Norse ass I'm angry," Tony grit out, "Some jerkoff stole my stuff and not only did they steal it, they _fucked_ with it. Why can't people just leave my shit alone? Jesus H. Christ in the foothills…" And then he returned to grumbling under his breath, muttering about tracers and schematics and even more maps.

"So…you're sure we should just leave Loki alone over this?" Steve directed his question to Thor this time instead of in general, "You do know him better than we do."

Thor scratched at his beard and frowned, cocking his head up towards the ceiling to listen. Everything was silent.

"He will likely be angry over this for a long while; my brother is known to hold grudges—" Understatement of ever, a grudge from Loki was likely to last forever unless something gave, "But if you go and bother him right now, he will throw something at you until you go away. Leave him be for a while. I will try and make amends when this is done."

"Yeah, yeah, pissy Norse god upstairs. What else is new? Look, sparky, you want me to pull up a visual for you?" Tony interrupted, tapping a few keys to bring up a security image. Loki was in the middle of the gym, very still and looking almost as if he were meditating. "Tah-dah~ This is an example of healthy anger management. _For goddamn once_."

Tony would rue those words for not two seconds later, Loki moved and several things happened all at once.

Sirens began to wail, causing the lot of them to cover their ears, and whatever Tony had been doing on the laptop had been overtaken by large pop-ups displaying 'SECURITY BREACH'. The video that had been fixed on Loki flickered and died, just in time to see the dark-haired man turn a little and stare straight into the camera.

The look on his face was unreadable, some strange mixture of angry and frustrated and a little bit of triumph, tossed together and stirred and garnished with something that almost looked like… apology.

Shit.

Oh, _shit_.

Thor was out the door in a flash, the rest of them on his heels. Tony's laptop was abandoned and something deep inside the house began to rumble.

And then the world went straight to hell.

* * *

><p>Loki was going to rip Victor limb from limb, listen to him beg while he put him back together, and then do it again.<p>

He was in the gym; it was the room with the most glass facing the outside and as far away as he could get from the kitchen. The doors were barred—physically rather than asking JARVIS for privacy. That would have been intensely suspicious and Loki wanted to remain innocuous until the very last moment before he couldn't be anymore.

The distance would buy him some time at least.

He stood stock-still in the middle of the room, simply taking the moment to breathe and pull himself together. He would need composure, lots of it. This might be one of the most unpleasant things he'd ever been prepared to do to himself. He had never been one to invite pain and this, oh…this was more than an invitation. This was a guarantee. There were cameras everywhere, he knew that too, though whether he was being watched or not was something that he didn't know.

Maybe the show had been enough.

Maybe it hadn't.

Loki pushed away the hurt that he couldn't keep from bubbling up at Thor, stupid, idiot Thor who still didn't know how to listen until it punched him in the face. Loki knew that in this at least, he couldn't entirely blame him. He'd played him, altered his actions and reactions to suit what Thor would most want to see from him: the reactions of a man who was notorious for holing himself away to sulk.

Loki's weren't the reactions of a man about to do something drastic (and likely very stupid), at least not the way Thor had seen over centuries. If they had been, maybe it would have gone a little differently. But Loki couldn't manage maybes right now and it would still have been a maybe. He had to do this himself.

It was impossible to not feel more than a little betrayed, though.

He couldn't think about that, not right now. Loki forced himself to focus on what he needed to do, focused on what he was out to achieve, because if he didn't?

He would definitely lose his nerve.

He'd really only have one chance for this, Loki knew. If he failed, it'd be a one-way trip to a high-security isolation cell in the bowels of SHIELD with all the restraints he could ask for and he would _fail_. Unacceptable. The only other option was to succeed.

Loki let out a breath and closed his eyes.

It was like being blind and feeling along a wall only this time, he was running mental hands over the glass wall that kept him from his magic. He could feel it, separated by something so thin and strong, begging and pleading and pining to be released and used after so long. It called to him even when he wasn't actively thinking about it, a quiet call in his heart and head that made him ache with longing.

He didn't dare risk touching his neck, as tempting as it was to do so. Not yet. He'd done too much and come too far to give himself away now.

Loki didn't know what Victor was planning, mostly because he tended to tune out whatever he said but whatever it was, he knew that it wouldn't end with the doctor alive. That wasn't his style. Victor would use her and then waste her, dump her body out somewhere without even trying to hide. Loki suppressed a shiver of rage and directed it inwards, sliding it up against that glass wall, stacking and stockpiling like a pile of bricks.

Focus.

Failure was unacceptable.

Loki would only have one chance and he'd have to take it.

Through the drum beats ringing in his ears, the sides of his lips tilted upwards.

Bad odds? Loki was the _master_ of bad odds. He could work with this.

Loki set himself up behind that glass wall and gave an experimental push, letting his magic brush up against the other side, catty corner as if he was preparing to bend it in half. It hurt just as it had a while ago when he'd forgotten about it and tried to access his magic. He was stronger now, though, and more able to shake it off. More determined, too. He pushed harder and the wall began to flex and bend from the pressure and just then, sirens began to blare.

Were he not so focused, he might have paid a bit more attention to them and the fact that the security system was screaming 'security breach' and that this time, the breach was him.

Loki's attention was drawn briefly to the camera in the corner.

That was it, then. Were they watching? Did they assume? No doubt they were in their way already but that was alright, he'd gotten the time he needed.

Pale hands traveled to his neck and gripped the collar, wrenching his fingers underneath it and forcing himself not to stop even when his nerves screamed in pain and _stop, stop, stop, it hurts_. He didn't stop, though, and the wall began to crack and a couple of his nails bent backwards in the process of catching a firm hold on the collar. He began to pull on it, uncaring of the way it began to sizzle and sear his hands and throat (a defense mechanism, maybe?).

He was neither cowed weakling nor trusting fool and Loki knew full well that anger had its own power should one know how to use it. He used it to his advantage now, using it to push through the pain and keep pulling even though he could hear footsteps and shouting and sirens and someone backing away to let Thor take over the door.

It slammed open just as Loki ripped through metal and circuitry and the collar dropped to the ground in pieces. Loki's ears popped and it was as if going deaf, and he didn't realize that he'd let out a howl of agony only to have it cut off by a burble of blood dripping from his mouth to spatter the otherwise spotless floor.

Thor's mouth was moving but Loki heard nothing, shoving aside burns and scrapes and _what have I done to myself?_ in favor of relishing the sudden rush of power that pulsed through him, his magic singing and thrumming, begging for him to use it. It was almost overwhelming and along with the exhilaration, Loki found himself almost weakened from it, as if he was being torn open and strained to accommodate something that had been taken from him.

And then someone was lunging at him and Loki ducked under an arm that came his way and called forth a fog, harmless but distracting, to fill the room. Just the way he wanted it.

"I will deal with this as I see fit. It is nothing personal against you and I'd rather it hadn't happened this way," Loki still couldn't hear a thing but made sure to raise his voice anyway, just in case, "But you will not keep me from this. We have past deeds to settle; he is _mine_."

And Loki went after the little bit of light shining through his fog, the light of afternoon sun, and threw himself against the glass windows.

They shattered on impact and Loki was falling, falling… the ground rushed up and for a split second, Loki was reminded of a staff slipping through his fingers, falling, falling, pain…until there wasn't any more. With as little thought as it took to breathe, Loki had forced his body through the change, shifting clothing to feathers and arms to wings and hollowing bones, and he paid no attention to the wreckage of glass and machinery and blood that he'd left behind him as an injured peregrine falcon took to the sky.

If he'd stuck around, he would have seen a group of people hovering in the window of the broken building and he likely would have heard an incredulous and frustrated,

"Aw, _fuck_."

* * *

><p>"I now call to order the daily Keep the Earth from Exploding meeting," Tony declared from his spot at the kitchen table amidst eye rolls and antsy shifts. For once, Thor to his right looked the calmest out of all of them after what had just happened, blood on the floor and snapped restraints aside, and that probably had to do with more than concern <em>for<em> Loki than about what he might do. Clint and Natasha sat quietly next to one another at his other side and Bruce at the next place over.

Steve wasn't sitting down at all but standing instead, arms folded firmly over his chest.

"As it stands: One missing therapist, one missing god of chaos, and my gym is so fucked up it's not even funny. Oh, and we also have no idea who we're going after."

"Loki said 'him'," Thor spoke up, "Should that not narrow it down some? Someone male who has reason to antagonize my brother."

"Thor, sweetie, _I_ have reason to antagonize your brother. I'm not sure that's a valid criteria—" Tony interrupted until he himself was interrupted by Natasha in turn.

"He also said he's already got a bone to pick with this guy," she said, steepling her fingers on the table, a considering look on her face. "But he's been _here_ for the last while; he hasn't been anywhere to get into fights with anyone. Who's pissed him off in that time who isn't in the room right now?"

And suddenly, two matching sets of blue eyes widened but Steve was the one who spoke. He stayed on his feet but stepped forward to be more a part of the group ringing the table.

"He was pretty upset when we all came back hurt after scrapping with Doom…" he mused, "I mean, he wasn't all—"

"My brother was very upset," Thor interrupted and really, was it too much to ask for anyone to be able to finish a sentence? Really? "And he is not one to let such a slight go. He might deny it and you may not believe me but when he cares, he cares deeply and firmly. He cares for his mind doctor and to demand that he let it go…well. I suppose that you mortals would liken it to prodding at a dragon. I should have known better. He is right, I am an _idiot_."

And the implication that Loki cared about the lot of them as well was something to be considered after everyone was back here, safe and as unharmed as could be expected.

Tony figured that after all this, he owed Loki a punch in the nose.

"So basically, right now we've got an unstable as fuck god running around, probably going to kill someone. Am I right?" Tony asked in the manner of a teacher trying to put an unruly class back in order. Steve scowled at his language but didn't protest. All the better. If they actually agreed, then this would go so much easier.

"And he would deserve it."

And there went all the nice agreement because there was no wiggle room or question in Thor's tone, just a certainly, and they could all see Steve's hackles go up. Captain America straightened up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling.

"Thor, are you seriously advocating your brother becoming a murderer over this? _Like_ this? ...again? Or- or something?"

"It is his right," Thor replied seriously and without a drop of good humor or a smile, "In this I find no fault with him; he has been wronged and tampered with by someone who by this time should know better. Whoever my brother is after has harmed something he cares for and I would be a fool and a hypocrite to stop him."

"_Thor_. This isn't what we do. We stop people from killing!" Steve threw his hands in the air with his words and Tony buried his face in his palms. God. Freaking. Damnit. Goddamnit.

"Am I to demand that my brother rein himself in when the chaos and rage finally has a proper outlet? A _just_ outlet? Steve Rogers, I am aware that you never wish to harm people. I am. But this is his right as a man, warrior, and prince of Asgard. His vendetta is justified," Thor insisted, firm and lecturing. Steve didn't appreciate the lecture and in fact looked entirely prepared to dig his heels in further.

This was proven when he spoke again, sounding as frustrated and resentful as Loki himself earlier.

"So you're going to, what, just let him go out and off the guy?"

Thor smiled, a sharp and almost wicked thing that didn't suit him and, in fact, looked more as if it would have belonged on Loki's face. It was then, suddenly, a question as to whether that smile was a Loki thing or an Asgard thing.

"Oh, most certainly not. I'm going to go after him and see it done. I do not doubt his abilities but should something happen to incapacitate him, I will take over and see his task completed. He will hate it if I aid him but he does so despise leaving business unfinished."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Steve shook his head as if unable to quite believe what he was hearing, "All this time it's been about— about _not_ doing things like this. And now you're going to just run off and let Loki kill somebody, and then give him a hand if he needs it? Are you a crazy person, or have I gotten myself dumped into the Twilight Zone? This isn't just some, 'poof, now you're dust!' thing here; this is a person going off specifically to _kill_ a person. He's not going to make this nice or simple or—he's not." He ignored Tony's appreciative 'nice pop culture reference there, pal' behind him.

"I say we let him do it," Clint offered with a shrug, "If it's actually Doom, he'd be doing us a favor. One less thing to worry about, right?"

"That is _not_ how that works!"

"Why not? Steve, you've killed people. And it's not like Loki's never killed people before; he's just never killed civilians. Remember: fire, brimstone, Thor with sun shining out the hole in his chest and Loki having a meltdown? I don't exactly recall the culprits living to talk about it. It's not a fun part of the job but it comes with the territory. You should get that just as well as we do."

"Because— because! It doesn't!"

"Everyone, cool your jets and chill out for a second. Let's just chill, kiddies," Tony snapped his laptop shut with a final click and focused on Steve. He couldn't keep the concern out of his face. "What are you freaking about, Cap: that Loki's gonna _kill_ someone or that _Loki's_ gonna kill someone? There is a really big difference and right now, I think we need to know it."

Steve looked away, blue eyes shuttered, and the Captain's hands found their way to the edge of the table where they clenched, digging fingermarks into the wood.

"I don't want him to kill him," he finally answered when it became clear that nothing more was going to be said until he spoke, "I don't. Maybe it's a stupid thing to think or not a big deal in the long run. Maybe it's stupid and not a big deal to you guys because he's Loki. And Thor, it's no big deal to you because at home, that's just what happens when there's war. But I've been at war too. And Loki…so's Loki, only his has been with himself and that does something to you." Almost as an afterthought, Steve looked down and noticed what he was doing to the table, releasing it when he saw the damage. He had everyone's attention but especially Thor's, those expressive blue eyes fixed on him like a beacon. "And like I said, maybe it's stupid to think about and maybe you see it as revenge, or justifiable vendetta, and maybe it is. Maybe it is Loki's right to go after him and maybe out of all of us, he's the best to handle it. But after all this, I don't want any more blood on him if I can help it. He doesn't…he doesn't _deserve_ it. He doesn't need it. And past the rage, I don't think he wants it either. Though maybe we'd know if any of us had ever _asked _what he wanted in the first place."

You could have heard a pin drop from how much noise was made when Steve finally quieted and it was a good while before anyone could say anything at all. Steve fought the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. Big and strong and fast he might have been, but the intensity with which his friends were watching him was enough to make anyone get a little bit of stage fright.

"Steve…" Tony began, unsure of just how it would be best to handle this. Steve was the group-appointed leader, generally. Certainly they all had input on what happened and half the time plans fell to cats in bags anyway because no one in their group knew how to follow them but when Steve Rogers spoke, he was heard. Shy, compassionate, unbending Steve was a leader in the way that Tony couldn't quite be and he didn't resent him for it. But he had never been so clearly in the minority before. "I don't think you're wrong, but that's not something we can work with right now. Look at it this way: we lost our unwilling little houseguest _and_ his doctor, and Fury thinks that Thor'll be enough for it? If it's Doom, we're gonna need _all_ of us, so we need to be able to do this without someone doing something stupid. And whatever it is that we end up doing, we need you with us." God, he wasn't cut out for pep talks, but…well. They clashed but the planning stage always went easier when no one was balking at everything everyone else said. "We do, we _need_ you, Cap."

"So why don't we figure out a way to call him back and _find out_ what the heck's going on and _then_ do something about it? And you—!" Steve turned to Thor as if suddenly remembering that he was there, "What's your excuse? What good are all these years if you can't learn anything from them?" That was a low blow and he would regret being so hurtful later if they all lived through this, but Thor flinched and looked away first, wringing his hands in front of him.

"I thought—I did not—Had I known that he would do something so drastic, I would not have let him go."

"And that's the problem, isn't it?" The anger and frustration had fled from Steve's voice, leaving him almost thoughtful, "That's always been the problem. _Maybe_ if someone's upset enough that you think they're going to start boxing themselves in, it might be a better idea to suck it up and dodge a few vases—"

"You dare to presume much, Steve Rogers," Thor muttered, voice low and dangerous but Steve wouldn't back down.

"How many times has this had to happen to get to the point that he can play you like that? That you can think that something that's clearly this big doesn't matter to him? What's it going to take? At least I've got the excuse of not knowing him that well!"

"Enough!" Tony snapped, cutting through the tension between the two men like a knife, "Both of you, _enough_."

Thor looked away first while Steve was merely silent, hard-eyed and practically vibrating with indignation.

"I don't know if you noticed, but it's not like we gave the guy a com and last I saw, he was spitting up blood and kind of turning into a raptor that I do not want to fuck with. Plus, we'd already shot him down and essentially threatened the shit out of him. Am I right, Thorski?" Thor gave an affirming nod that was laced with more than a bit of self-recrimination and no small amount of residual anger. "Even if we could get a hold of him, he's not going to want our help. We already fucked that up. At this point it's a go or stay situation but if it's stay, it's not because we're hoping that Loki suddenly grows a soft streak. That just ain't happening. Stop and think. We don't know who we're after, but Loki does. We wouldn't know where to even go, but Loki does. Not only that, but he's ticked off and probably in pain, not to mention that he's likely got the granddaddy of all hangovers going on, _and_ he's got his magic back. Can we all agree that we fucked up? I'm including myself in this. So quit freaking, _calm your tits_, and chill for like, two seconds so we can figure out what we're doing."

Steve's exhale could be heard by everyone and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply as if to ward off a headache. When he opened them, he looked visibly calmer and less agitated. Less tense and less prone to flying off the handle again, but still distraught.

"…okay," he finally gave in, "I'm clearly outvoted here."

"Yep," Clint waved him over and hauled out a chair, "Now, sit. Where do we start?"

"How about Latveria? Maybe the giant castle that the Fantastic Four keep trying to knock over…" Steve grumbled under his breath and dodged a smack on the shoulder from Tony, who hadn't lifted his head to look at him.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, buddy. Leave it to the masters. Oh god, if Loki kills Doom, we're gonna have to deal with the little dweebs that can't seem to keep him under control. I can't stand those guys. Thor, any idea of how to track your boy?"

Thor shifted and looked suddenly uncomfortable.

"There is a way, but it is going to be unpleasant. Heimdall and Loki have never gotten along."

"…and you couldn't just use this dude to track down the doc? _Really_?" Tony asked incredulously and Thor scowled at the ground, his own annoyance apparent.

"Heimdall does not follow my demands but those of my father. And Father would not interfere in this. Had I thought he would, I might have asked. But Loki is banished and until that changes, he will not speak of him."

"But this Heimdall guy'll find Loki?"

"Loki is known for being…troublesome on occasion. And Heimdall dislikes him. He will find him if he can and if it makes things inconvenient for my brother."

"Okay, you go and take care of that. Keep your com on and let us know when you get some specifics. The rest of us will start heading to Latveria. Maybe if we're lucky, he won't have razed the whole damn country to the ground by the time we get there."

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please, if you have any feedback for me, leave it in a review! I read every single one and it's really the best way for me to judge the reception that this story is getting. I won't beg for reviews or threaten to stop writing but they <em>are<em> appreciated, and every single one of them makes me ridiculously, stupidly happy.


	32. Garnet

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Thirty-Two: Garnet<p>

* * *

><p>Okay, so maybe Loki hadn't been thinking <em>quite<em> as clearly as he thought he had.

Taking the form of a falcon had been more instinctual than anything and if he'd had a little more clarity and a little less panic at the time, he'd have realized that there was a more convenient way to travel. He'd only discovered it himself, he grumbled to himself when his wings began to tire. Still, there were only so many options when one was plummeting out a window.

He was never going to admit this to anyone's face, but Tony had been right about thing: once in a while, Loki really was an idiot.

And that was how Loki found himself blinking out of existence in the air and faceplanting onto the floor of his very own apartment in New York.

It was exactly as he remembered it, the spells he'd set up keeping everything dust-free and clean in his absence and Loki couldn't help taking a deep breath. It smelled the same and looked the same and _felt_ the same and for the first time in he didn't know how long, Loki thought that it was good to be back.

No time for nostalgia, though, he thought and hoisted himself off the floor. The cuts from the glass windows and the smears of blood on his neck and face had already been ground into the carpet but there was no need to make it worse.

This was a problem.

Magic was an advantage, no doubt, but it had its own setbacks. Namely the fact that he couldn't just poof himself to Lateria.

Yes, he could navigate the shadows and travel faster and more efficiently than any other means, like being his own personal Bifrost, but that didn't mean anything if he didn't know how to get where he needed to go. Loki had to have a route and a firm destination and he'd never been to Latveria, nor to Victor's lair. He could seriously kick himself for not taking the man up on his many offers; despite the fact that he couldn't stand him, it would have made things so much easier in the long run.

Loki began to pace up and down his familiar living room, his own quick mind going through all the options.

He had to calm down.

If he could just get himself a route, then it wouldn't be a problem. No doubt, Thor and the rest of them would be on his heels, but how fast _they_ could go was yet another complication, adding on to the question of whether or not they were following him or following where they thought he was going. They would be slow either way.

Too late either way.

Loki stopped. He was still so furious and it was making him fumble and trip like he hadn't since he was very young. Oh, he hurt. It was an all-over sort of pain, the sharp stabs that came from where the skin pulled around his cuts, the headache, and something that felt like a hole somewhere inside him that had been ripped open when he'd broken his restraints.

Loki ran a finger over his chin and tried to wipe off some of the blood that was slowly drying on his face.

_Slow,_ he told himself, _Calm down. You do yourself no favors like this and you will accomplish nothing if you do not __**think**_.

With a temperance that came only from far too many years of practice, Loki scooped up all of his feelings and shoved them into a drawer, right along with the part of him that couldn't help but focus on his injuries. He would deal with all of it later but for now, the last thing he needed was the distraction and his temper getting in the way.

The rush he'd been given from having his magic returned to him had fled, leaving a strange and unwelcome weariness. He knew from which it stemmed, knew that in an ideal world he would have best released it slowly and give himself the chance to acclimate himself to having power again. Instead of being let out steadily it had exploded out of him, leaving his core torn and strained and bleeding.

A bleeding that had taken a physical form that he didn't have the time to stop.

There was nothing to be done for it right now, Loki knew. He would heal but it would take time, time he didn't have right now. He didn't have the time to mend his injured magic nor the magic to mend his injured body, but that was alright.

He wasn't dying yet and until he was, there would be time to deal.

He would be careful, Loki decided. Use only the bare minimum of what he would need until he had to dip his hands into it again. He would save it for Victor, who while being a weak mortal was also a smart mortal, a smart mortal who thought he knew how Loki worked.

And then he was blessedly blank, all of the chaos and rage smoothed out into a plane of _focus, do what you need to do, and for the love of all that matters, do not do anything stupid._

There was only one way to do this and it involved booting up the laptop on his desk and opening it. Loki read for what felt like hours but in reality was only about twenty minutes, his quick mind memorizing maps and subway lines, mineral veins and geologic charts and landscapes and hillsides, towns and buildings, the shape of the country, the size of the country, its relation to Serbia, Romania, and Hungary in miles and kilometers. And most importantly, he memorized the godawful, hideous monstrosity of a castle that stuck up out of the landscape in so many pictures.

Doomstadt, he noted, cringing a little at the name.

He could work with this.

First, though…

Loki stood straight and made a quick, flipping hand gesture. Dark grey skinnies and green Henley were replaced by green breeches and a fitted coat in gold and green with a high collar and golden leather lacing up the sides. He liked his duster and cape but it was unsuited for stealth and Loki thought it best to leave it be. Gauntlets settled over his wrists and his boots were traded out in favor of something more appropriate that stopped at the knee, his favorite leather greaves materializing over the tops.

The clothing felt almost foreign to him now, not quite normal Asgardian wear but much more like armor than the casual Midgard clothing he'd grown so attached to. He would need the mobility and passed over his horned helmet (it was flashy and he still liked it but it wasn't exactly conducive to sneaking about in the dark).

Loki gave a wriggle of his shoulders and found himself pleased with the fit. He would be able to move, he would be able to fight, and the extra weight that he could feel but not see would help stave off damage that he was going to court by not going in full armor.

Despite the dire situation and the upset that threatened to take him over every time he stopped for too long, Loki had rarely felt as free as he did now.

He had a route, he had a hold on himself, and above all, he had a plan.

That plan was currently to track down Victor von Doom, slam him up against a wall, and bash his head against it until he was dead. Maybe not the classiest he'd ever been, but who was really expecting classy from him at this point, anyway? Classy and dignified were for people who deserved it.

"If she is harmed," he promised under his breath, "There will be nothing in any realm that will keep me from giving you what you deserve."

Path firmly mapped out in his head, Loki took to the shadows and slipped from sight, leaving the apartment as empty as it had been before.

* * *

><p>Caroline was bored out of her damn mind. There was simply no other way to put it when she'd been sitting here for god only knew how long, tied to a chair and released just long enough to use the sterile little bathroom, all the while under the supervision of three Doombots. If things hadn't been so serious, she really might have laughed.<p>

Doombots.

Castle Doom.

Doomtown.

Someone certainly liked the sound of his own name.

"I don't suppose you could get a girl a book or something, could you?" she called, her voice bouncing off the walls. It was pointless, she knew; she hadn't received any kind of answer yet and there was no reason for her to expect that to change. Still, even a magazine would have been nice, even if it had been out of date for years.

Anything to keep from thinking too hard about what was going to happen to her and worse, what was going to happen to Loki.

Avoidance was the proper term for what she was doing, Caroline mused. She continued to run her eyes over the walls, memorizing every screen and every dial. She hadn't a clue of what any of them did but if anyone needed to know the location of any given red button, she could point out exactly seventeen in the direct vicinity. She had memorized the titles of all the books on the top row of the shelf by the door. God, what was she going to do?

At this point it was either count things and lament the shallow things like the damage done to her hair, rather than… the other things she could be thinking about.

Caroline Moran might not have any sort of super strength and she might have been tied to the most uncomfortable chair in the history of forever, trapped in some kind of impenetrable fortress in who even knew where, but she would not be a victim. She spent enough time telling other people the same things not to take her own advice.

The only thing she could control was herself, and she was refusing, heaven and earth be damned, to become a victim.

She would sit here and she would complain at the top of her lungs and she wouldn't be ashamed for being scared. Anyone with sanity would have been scared.

Doctor Doom killed people, fairly regularly, in fact, and she had little hope that he'd have some sort of change of heart about her anytime soon.

As long as she could, Caroline would do her best to be as uselessly useful as possible, just enough that he would want to keep her alive. Unfortunately, that meant not screaming profanity to the sky but that was what the list in her head was for. It was currently titled _Horrible Things I am Going to Say to Doctor Doom After I Kick Him in the Head._

Okay, so the title needed work.

It wasn't like she currently lacked editing time.

The thing that no one seemed to ever mention about being kidnapped (surprising, considering how often it seemed to happen to other people) was how _boring_ it was. Yes, it was terrifying but after a while, you just kind of got used to it, and then what? After the frenzied panic, all there was to do was sit there and be kidnapped, along with being grateful that there hadn't yet been any kind of torture of interrogation.

Yet.

Definitely asking for a panda tracer next time.

In all honesty, Doom hadn't really done much of anything to her other than be offended by her hair –watching him pet her lopped off ponytail was still the creepiest thing she'd ever seen in her life- and the not knowing broke through the boredom in the form of cold chills, starting in her stomach and racing their way up her spine like tiny, glacial lightning strikes.

Avoidance was lovely, yes.

It would also be really, really nice to know where she was. There were only so many things to look at and Caroline had taken in the stone peeking through the electronic technology plastered wall to wall and the way sounds echoed as if they were deep inside a mountain. At this point, she really wouldn't even be surprised—

Wait.

Brown eyes flicked up at movement on a screen out of the corner of her eye. It wasn't much, no more than a flash, but it was a flash of green that shouldn't be there. It came again and it was still a little too dark to see clearly but that was definitely someone garbed in black and green, someone doing a very good job of keeping to shadows and dark corners.

She watched without turning her head.

Caroline had no doubt that she was being watched as well and if she gave away Loki's position…well. That wouldn't turn out well for anyone and she would never forgive herself if she came out of it alive enough to forgive.

Loki's image jumped from the first screen to the next (CCTV?) and Caroline realized then that he wasn't unaware of the cameras. If she had had any doubts of who was creeping about in the shadows, they fled not a moment later when green eyes fixed on the camera. She would never have been able to mistake him, not in a thousand years.

It was strangely comforting. She knew he couldn't actually see her but he was _here_ and just that knowledge made her feel just a little bit safer. Loki was dangerous, sharp, and deadly when he wished to be but he had never been deadly to her, not when he'd put the worst of himself on the table in front of her and expected condemnation only to receive patience and temperance. Not when she could remember phone calls at three in the morning, of one-sided conversations because he was in too much of a state to speak.

If there was one person in the world that Caroline felt safe standing next to at this point, it was Loki.

And then that led to the question of what he was doing here.

Aside from the obvious, anyway. The real question was more along the lines of how. Had he gotten Tony to release him or had he done a runner? And in that case, was he getting himself into more trouble just by being here? Caroline would have shaken her fist had she been able.

And why wasn't he using his magic if he'd been released?

It wasn't like he really needed it, Caroline had to admit while watching him flit from camera to camera, a split-second flash of green and black. Loki possessed stealth in spades and had apparently been sensible enough to leave that flashy helmet of his at home.

The door began to open and he was still in sight.

Caroline went cold.

Hell, hell, hell.

If Doom caught sight of Loki, everything was ruined. She had to do something, anything, _some_ kind of distraction, anything to keep him from looking at that screen…

Wait.

Doom had tied her hands and her knees but not her ankles.

Throwing caution to the wind, Caroline slipped her foot backwards and hooked it around the computer tower next to her chair, sending it toppling over onto its front. From there she gave a sideways lurch and purposefully bumped the mug of coffee, sending now-cold liquid straight into the circuits that sent out sudden sparks.

There was a strange hissing noise and the screens flickered. Not a second later, every single security camera shut off entirely.

And then Caroline had no time to focus on that because there was a furious Latverian ruler bearing down on her, seething with rage.

"You idiot bitch!" he snarled and gripped the back of her chair with a hand, hauling it forward, "What have you done?"

"I'm sorry, it was an accident!" Caroline babbled. The words were lies but she didn't have to fake the fear and the helplessness in her voice. She had done it entirely on purpose but she _was_ afraid and she _was_ helpless. And hopefully, she hadn't just destroyed Loki's mission by being killed for this. "I swear, it was an accident!"

At her words, Doom flung the chair back, sending her toppling backwards. Caroline lost all of her air at the same time that the back of her head hit the ground with an awful crack.

Spots flared in her vision and she gave a pained hiss, trying desperately to get free, get off the floor. The steadiness and boost of confidence she'd been given from Loki's arrival had been traded for pain. She took heaving breaths, screaming at herself to calm down, calm down, calm down.

Concussion, quite likely, Caroline told herself clinically and refused to acknowledge the beginnings of tears gathering in her eyes, spurred on by a sudden, watery confusion and the sensation that the room was moving even though the last thing she was able to do was get up. Her stomach roiled.

Oh god, if she threw up right now, she'd probably drown in it.

Hell, _hell_.

Doctor Moran likely had a concussion and was still tied to a thrice damned chair.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god…" she didn't realize that she'd spoken aloud until an armored hand came down and patted her on the cheek, a mockery of comfort.

"Doctor Doom has better things to do," he informed her "Do try not to die."

He left the room without looking at her (taking his entourage of Doombots with him) and Caroline ignored the stabbing pain in her head in favor of twisting in her bindings, trying not to give in to the crazed struggling of the desperate.

It was going to be okay, she told herself firmly, blinking away the fuzziness and the ripples in her vision, it was okay. She was a doctor, she would _make_ it be okay.

The one, sole good thing about being flung backwards to be concussed was that the motion had inadvertently shifted the ropes keeping her tied. They were sturdy and unmanageable, the knots unreachable from an upright position, but the combination of the change in posture and the sheer force of the movement had loosened them to the point that she managed to loop her fingers underneath one of the ends and wriggle it free, enough that she released one of her hands and could frantically begin to scrabble at the other.

_Okay, it's going to be okay_, Caroline said to herself in her own, soothing doctor voice, hands were free. _Focus on what to do next, don't think about how much your head hurts, don't worry about Loki for now. He knows what he's doing; he'll be alright._ That in mind, she gritted her teeth and raised herself up as if she were going to start doing crunches, holding it as long as she could to reach forward and undo the knots keeping her knees still.

The moment she was able, Caroline rolled off the chair and lay still for just a moment, breathing hard from exertion and pain.

Okay, that was done. Next step: breathing without sobbing and then finding some way out of this place.

It took a while but she managed to roll herself onto her hands and knees, just barely keeping herself from throwing up all over the floors.

Carefully (because the room was moving and she wasn't and her depth perception was shot to hell), Caroline hauled herself to the wall and got to her feet, swaying a little as if drunk. If only, she thought to herself, resisting the urge to touch the back of her head. She knew she'd regret it if she did and didn't want to know whether her hands would come away wet.

She really, really didn't.

She reached the door and gave the handle a swift shove, because of course the guy would have doors that opened outwards.

It didn't budge, not one bit.

She scowled at it and couldn't resist giving it a kick with her foot. It did nothing but it made her feel better, anyway. Okay, so pushing it open of her own power was out of the question. Maybe…

Caroline glanced around the room, catching sight of a large, coppery paperweight in the design of Latveria's coat of arms.

…she could work with that.

It didn't get the door open but the loud thud as it hit the door was more than satisfying. Gritting her teeth, she picked it up and threw it again with all her might. The more her vision swam the more jerky her movements became and the more often she had to stop and steady herself, the world going muted and thundering by turn.

She had to get out of here.

The weight was too far away for convenience now and she settled on the next best thing: pummeling the door with all the various books that she could reach. No, it wouldn't get the door open, she thought dazedly, but if she could get someone's attention, who would then be forced to open it to see what all the hullabaloo was about…

Well, she could work with that too.

* * *

><p>Loki was familiar with rage.<p>

It was an old friend, the friend who showed up at the worst possible time and inspired bad decisions, the one who made things feel better just for a few short moments by way of carnage and madness and making everything hurt.

Loki was very, very familiar with rage.

It simmered underneath his skin like a pot on the verge of boiling over, a feeling that burned hot and then cold so quickly that he couldn't keep up. It had been for hours and once upon a terrible time, had taken him over. Even that, though, had been rooted in pain.

This was Thor's kind of rage, the one that screamed _how dare you_ as loud as it could, the rage of pride and chaos and blood and fire, the kind that may well have inspired the very picture of Hell itself. If there was anything about this situation that Loki couldn't repair, there was a very good chance that he would make the concept a reality and Latveria might well burn asunder.

Loki pressed himself up against a corner and made note of the subtle flash above him, the shine of a lens.

He was honestly a little surprised; for all of his talk and boasting, even Victor had the sense to keep a lookout.

Good.

Maybe then killing him wouldn't feel too much like stepping on something helpless. Not like that had ever mattered to Doom.

Loki would make him regret that too.

It would have been so much easier if he risked using his magic instead of the creeping and slipping but Loki wouldn't squander the power he'd stockpiled on the way, that he hadn't foolishly thrown away by ripping off that blasted collar like an idiot.

No time for regrets, he told himself. No time for what-ifs, should haves, would haves, or could haves.

In a perfect world, Loki would have had the time to do it properly, would have had the time to explain himself, or convince the hero squad that their best option was to _let him go_. There was no such thing as a perfect world, though, and Loki hadn't had the time. Would they be coming after him, now?

Would all he have to look forward to be a prison, albeit less gilded?

Loki realized with a start that the idea didn't alarm him the way it should have.

It wouldn't be ideal, no. But as long as he accomplished what he'd come here for, as long as he could get Doctor Moran out of here, alive and as unharmed as possible… well. He'd take his due, whatever it was, for it would be worth it for someone like her to remain whole and hale and herself.

Loki coughed and tasted warm, liquid metal then swallowed it down. This was the least pleasant he'd felt physically since ripping himself open in exchange for Thor's life and at least then, he'd been far too focused to feel it. He ached from a place he couldn't name and he couldn't entirely block out the stinging band of skin that encircled his neck, burned and probably already beginning to blister.

How easy it would be, Loki thought, to slip through the wall. So very, very easy. But then where would that leave him. Could he risk it when he couldn't guarantee what awaited him inside? No.

Best to save it for when things got desperate, if they got desperate.

He'd rather they didn't, certainly. But if they did?

As Tony had taken to saying, albeit jokingly: Loki's got a plan for that.

This had destroyed everything with them. Loki had felt, had hoped…well. It had been nice to feel a little bit of what Thor had had with the Warriors Three. Maybe it had all been nothing from the beginning; it wouldn't surprise him. Maybe Loki had simply gotten soft and pathetic. Maybe he was an idiot and seeing things that had never been and would never be there. Maybe it was impossible.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd made a crucial mistake and let them get under his skin.

Loki knew better than to try the front entrance or the back one, but he knew Victor and knew that somewhere he would have another, because the front was big and flashy and the back was subtle but the one that would work…oh, it would be hidden. A wry smirk tilted Loki's lips. Loki _liked_ finding hidden things.

He dragged a hand along the wall as he went, watching and feeling for any sort of difference in age in material, in—

He froze.

Fingertips ran over a section of wall and stilled, pressing without forcing. It was different here. Smoother, newer. _Different_.

Got it.

It wouldn't have a voice code, Victor was a traditionalist. There would be a lever or a button or some sort of physical mechanism to it. Loki pressed around, finding nothing.

He had never before been grateful for his resistance to the cold; he had been comfortable in Malibu but it was snowing now, flecks of icy white dusting his shoulders and the top of his head. Loki glanced down at the area directly in front of the unusual wall and with a booted foot, brushed aside the layer of snow. The area down there was different too.

Loki's smirk widened and he stepped forward, putting all of his weight down. Something sank and without a sound, the door slid open on well-oiled hinges.

_Thank you for the welcome, Victor_, he thought to himself as he slipped inside, _though it leaves much to be desired_.

Loki hadn't been entirely sure of what he was expecting from the inside of the castle but whatever it was, it wasn't what he got. Spotlessly clean, that was expected, but the huge portraits of Doom himself hanging on the walls every few yards… in retrospect, Loki probably ought to have expected those too. He gave them a disdainful stare but resisted the urge to knock them off the walls. Natural stealth only went so far and should he make noise, the shadows wouldn't be able to protect his cover, not if he was unwilling to use magic for fear of running out when he needed it most.

The most protected part of the castle was the keep, the center. Loki oriented himself in the hallway, fixing the snowy outdoors behind him and fixing himself on what would undoubtedly be the place he needed to get to and consequently, the most difficult. That was where she would be.

The halls were long and dark and almost worryingly deserted. Were the servants merely keeping away? Was this area simply not well-traveled? Or had something, somewhere, gone wrong?

Loki's footsteps were silent on stone and he kept a close eye on everything he could, watching for cameras and the presence of humans or worse, one of those horrible robots that Victor was so very proud of. That was not something he wanted to think about, not at all, not when his doctor may very well be dying somewhere in this dismal pit.

He honestly preferred to not think about that either.

The doors were numerous and unlabeled, which he expected but resented for complicating matters.

The silence was still unnerving.

Loki continued walking, staying fixed on where he wanted to go…and then he stopped.

Behind him, there was a scraping of metal on tile and Loki shifted. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a hulking metal beast lurking in the hall, the three glowing 'eyes' blinking in a pattern. It wasn't attacking. Yet.

It was following, stalking.

Loki flicked his wrist and loosed one of the daggers fixed to his lower arm into his palm, familiar in his hand. More familiar than the rage and a better friend as well.

And then without warning he whipped around, attacking with a sweeping kick and following up with a fierce stab with a dagger through the head and dragging it down, down through metal and wire until the circuitry had to give and the thing exploded with a ground-shaking boom.

It also set a tapestry on fire, which set another on fire, which in turn set off a screaming siren as the hallway began to glow hot and fast.

For a few brief seconds, Loki stood amongst the flame, straight-backed. That was all the time he allowed himself before continuing on his way, breaking into a sprint.

_Let it begin._

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you all so much for reading! I'm actually heading out of the state in a couple of days, so you beautiful kids get a nice, long chapter to make up for it. Please, please, please leave a review if you liked this or if you have anything to say, whether it's praise or critique.<p> 


	33. Onyx

Truthfully

* * *

><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Thirty-Three: Onyx<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you all for your patience! I had a fantastic vacation over the fast ten days and I'm absolutely exhausted now, but I thought I ought to be nice and give you a chapter. Now, though, I sleep.<p>

* * *

><p>"This is cold as balls," Tony complained from inside his suit, stepping off the quinjet that they'd landed in the woods in order to better hide.<p>

"Shut the fuck up and quit your whining," Clint retorted, peeking his head out just long enough to shoot the outdoors a dirty look before returning with a puffy jacket, "You've at least got the suit. What don't I have? Sleeves."

"You shut up too," Natasha added in turn, muttering something under her breath about spoiled babies who ought to get shipped to Russia and see how they liked it. Next to her, Bruce rubbed his temples with experienced hands.

"Cap, you coming? C'mon, buddy, up and at 'em," Tony goaded. Reluctantly, Steve dragged himself out of his seat and stood in the open doorway, matching Clint's dirty look with one of intense wariness.

"Yeah, sorry," he murmured in reply, "Just not the biggest fan of the whole ice and snow thing. It'll pass." It wouldn't, they all knew that much, but it made Steve feel better to think that it might. This place was mostly wilderness, blanketed in snow that he'd nearly forgotten about thanks to taking up residence in California and it was only early evening but already dark. He shivered just a tiny bit and not from the cold. "Still nothing from Thor?"

"Not a peep," Tony answered as they trundled out of the jet, "I'm gonna be optimistic and say that means that we're on the right trail."

Or it meant that everything had gone to hell in a hand basket, even more than it already had.

There was no sign of Loki, not that any of them had expected any. The most magical knowledge that any of them possessed had been the little that Tony had gotten from Thor and even then, he had prefaced it with something along the lines of an Asgardian form of _Don't come after me if I'm wrong, but…_ and had always ended with something about how if they wanted details, they'd be much better off asking his brother.

So really, they didn't expect to see something as obvious as footprints in the snow.

Steve was worried and he wasn't afraid to admit it, not just for the doctor but for Loki as well. He might have escaped but he hadn't been looking very good after he'd ripped through his restraints, and Captain America remembered with a sick feeling in his stomach the smears of blood Loki had left on the floor of the ruined gym. Such small things, seemingly insignificant when compared to the rest of the destruction, but at the same time much more telling.

Yeah, so a few machines had gotten tipped over and a window broke. Windows broke all the time, especially with someone at any given point throwing things or shooting arrows into the lights or hulking out by accident over a bad outcome in a football game.

Loki didn't usually make himself bleed without even being wounded.

The last and only time it had happened was when he had ripped himself apart to save Thor.

Steve had never been quite so grateful for Tony, who walked right up to the ugly, looming castle like he owned it and popped open some kind of panel that Steve would never have known existed. He plugged something into the mass of wires and circuit boards that he pulled out of the wall and whistled.

"What's up?"

"Other than the fact that this place is armed to the teeth and someone is crazy dedicated to encase natural stone in metal? There's a couple of ways in, to start. Front door, back door, a couple of secret side doors. Interestingly enough, one of those side doors has been opened very recently."

"_How_ recently?" Steve asked.

Tony grinned at him.

"Try twenty minutes ago recently. I think we might have found our boy. Man, the system's all effed up though, like something fried it. I could access the security tapes but it'll take a little bit. Everything's here, just…scrambled up." Tony grumbled at the device in his hands and fiddled with some more before looking up. "Cap, what do you think?"

Steve shifted on his feet and studiously ignored the snow melting on his shoulder and leaving wet spots.

He might have answered had one not showed itself in the form of an ominous rumbling and a hole being blown through the outside wall a couple of floors up. From inside they could see the beginning of flames and a flash of signature green.

"I think that's our cue."

* * *

><p>Loki fought his way towards the center of the castle.<p>

The Doombots were coming in spades now and he'd been forced to use his magic now twice: once to avoid taking a blade to the gut and then on instinct to blast a wave of them back which ended up causing them all to explode and shower the area with carnage. Loki was getting close, he had to be getting close—he trusted his sense of direction and knew implicitly that he was heading in the right direction.

He couldn't deny that this was putting more of a strain on him than it should.

Loki remained focused on his task, though. He could complain about it when it was done; for now, all he could do was _do_.

And do he would.

He eventually came to a thick, metal door. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Victor though Loki had destroyed plenty of his pets in the process. The fool had run most likely, the coward. No, not necessarily the coward in _this_, Loki amended. Coward in other ways, certainly.

Loki no longer possessed even a fraction of the patience he'd started with and let himself slip through that crucial door.

He barely had the time to preen that he'd been correct before his attention was drawn to something in the room, on the floor set off to the side. A chair was lying on its back with rope strewn around it and in front of the door, a body was in a heap on the floor. A very familiar form with red hair and ridiculous-looking glasses who was moving sluggishly, completely unaware that he was there. The room was a wreck, books littering the floor and a few yards away, there sat a large, slightly worse-for-wear paperweight. Loki's insides tightened and twisted with a sudden cold that had nothing to do with rage.

He made a beeline for the body, dropping down beside a woozy Doctor Moran and shakily gripping her shoulders to help her sit up. Nimble fingers, so used to delicate work, suddenly felt as clumsy as sausages and Loki couldn't seem to do anything _fast enough_ and it was everything he could do to not let his relief show in his movements that wanted so badly to be jerky and harried.

The doctor groaned a little at the movement and opened her eyes.

"Loki…?" she breathed, pain mixing with relief. "Oh, you're here."

"I am," Loki answered and hoped she didn't notice that worry and fear made his voice pitch upwards, "Are you injured?" She was coherent but lacked her normal quickness as if every thought was moving through quagmire. Loki had felt like that once as a young child after play-fighting with Thor and his older brother had ended up bludgeoning him in the head with a fence post.

Loki remembered feeling dizzy and weak for a number of days and a sharp ache in his head that nothing would ease.

"Concussion, I think," she told him with a wince. He was unaware of the term. She elaborated, "A bruise in the brain. Not bad, I'm not seeing pink elephants just yet…" Caroline made an attempt to sit up and looked suddenly like she was about to violently ill. Loki didn't think twice about leaning down to wrap an arm around her shoulders and another underneath her knees to ease her up, making effort to be as gentle as he could.

"I will get you out of here," he promised, getting to his feet. "There is much owed."

"He cut off my hair."

For some inexplicable reason, that upset Loki almost as much as the head injury, which he could see forming as an impressive lump on the back of her head. He apparently wasn't alone in the sentiment for when he examined her face he could see wetness at the corners of her eyes. Some of the anger was replaced with a concern that nearly knocked him over. A small, feminine hand reached up and brushed at his chin, coming away red. Loki didn't know if it came from his mouth or nose.

"Loki, you're—"

An explosion that hadn't been caused by him made the whole building shake.

About damn time.

"If I am correct, the do-gooders finally made it. They will take you to a medical facility. I will be dealing with Victor—"

At his words, Caroline began to twist in his arms. The look on her face was distressed.

"When you say—when you say deal with him, you mean…?"

"He will not see another day."

"Loki, you can't!" she protested and squirmed again. Loki adjusted his grip, keeping it firm. She seemed intent on making him drop her; as if he would allow that to happen.

"I must. You don't—" he paused for a moment to begin walking toward the doorway, "You don't understand. I cannot allow this to continue. It has gone far enough, I _cannot_."

_Please understand_, he begged in his head, _Please, please understand._

"Loki, please—" brown eyes were blinking slowly and Loki gave her body a slight shake. He didn't possess much knowledge of head injuries and it probably wasn't good for her, but he had read somewhere that it was worse to let a victim go to sleep before receiving treatment. Go to sleep and she may not wake up. The very idea made him cold in a way that winter couldn't, sending a shiver up his spine.

Unacceptable.

"Does he not deserve it?" Loki exited the room and ran straight into a trio of Doombots. Now was definitely the time to spare some of his magic, especially now that he lacked the use of his hands, and they burst into dust and flame with a murmured word.

"He does, he does, but Loki…"

"I am listening."

"It's not _fair_. He deserves it, but you don't! I don't want you to kill him!"

And if that didn't feel like a kick in the chest, Loki didn't know what would. He even stopped and stared down at her, shocked and stupidly, shamefully touched.

"Who will you be killing, now?" A voice rang out and Loki stiffened, practically vibrating with anger again. All it took was hearing that voice to bring back the heat that started in his stomach and worked its way up until everything he was burned. "I'm surprised that you managed to escape your keepers. Welcome to Latveria. Perhaps we can discuss this over some coffee."

"We will be discussing nothing, ever," Loki snarled, setting Caroline down against a wall and turning around to face him. "Not unless you'd like to make a request on how you'd like to die. It will be ignored, mind, but you're welcome to try."

"Loki, Loki, no!"

_Loki, no._

Loki held back the shudder.

And Doom began to laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls and ringing through the hall over the flames and crashes and sirens.

"Oh, oh. Dear Loki, I forgot how much I enjoyed your jokes."

Green eyes narrowed. It was a dangerous look, one that promised much pain and little relief.

"Have you even seen yourself? You're a wreck. Bleeding all over my nice floor and breaking my toys…terrible manners."

"You broke my rules."

"Oh, please. Those other fools may be weak enough to follow your creed but _I_ do not stand in your shadow. I am Victor von Doom and you will learn your place! You are no god, no more than a coward with his magic tricks. I am a sorcerer and I will not bow to you!"

"I would not need to be a god to deal with you!" And Loki struck, launching himself and allowing himself to give in and allow himself one solid, _glorious_ hit that struck Doom in the metal cheek and sent his head flying to the side. "Who needs to be a god? I don't even need my magic, much less _your_ little tricks! Where are they now, when your castle burns and your armies are dead?"

"Your friends are dying right now!" Doom shot back at him, "I thought that this would happen in reverse to make the set complete, but it will happen one way or another. A collector can't complain. Does it sadden you to know that you caused this? Right now, my Doombots are wreaking havoc on Stark's little mansion and all of them right along with it."

Loki stopped short and just barely kept himself from making an incredulous and entirely unattractive face. Victor thought that his brother and his friends were—what? But couldn't he tell that Loki wasn't the only intruder in Doomstadt? Unless…unless he _couldn't_ tell. Unless something had happened to damage something, somehow, that meant that they had come undetected. It hadn't even occurred to Loki, he'd just assumed that they'd muscled their way in.

But…Doom didn't know that they were here.

From what Loki could infer, the plan was to lure the Avengers away from the house, leaving Loki alone and supposedly helpless. He apparently hadn't expected Loki to break free on his own. He was also apparently working on the assumption that Loki hadn't been followed.

Shame on him for being unobservant, then. He might have the chance to regret that, if he lived long enough.

Loki made an obscene hand gesture, garnering what would likely have been an angry snarl had the other man not been wearing a mask.

"You have a bad habit of leaving cracks in your armor. I'd advise you to work on that but I'm afraid you won't have time."

And that was all the warning Loki had before the waves of flame grew taller as if given life of their own, whipping towards the prone doctor still helpless on the floor. There was a second of panicked scream and Loki acted, abandoning his plan of beating the ever living daylights out of Doom in favor of practically plastering himself to the wall to shield her, covering her body with his own. It was only instinct that called the torrent that began to pour inside, washing the walls and floors and ceiling like a flash flood and disappearing just as quickly.

Damn.

"Are you all right?" Loki gasped out, breaths heaving. "You must tell me that you are all right." He didn't realize that he'd said it aloud until Caroline, eyes unnaturally wide and showing white all around, reached out with both hands and gripped his collar.

"I'm okay. Loki, I'm okay. It's okay, it's okay."

"If you trust me at all, trust me now," he whispered.

Caroline nodded and green eyes flicked to Victor, who suddenly looked unsure of himself and of his master plan.

And Loki called the very last of his power to bring the roof and every floor above it down on their heads with all of the strength he had.

* * *

><p>"My brother is in this castle!" Thor boomed upon arrival, smacking a Doombot away with Mjolnir like it was a baseball bat and the robot was a ball. From the other end of the hallway, Tony paused long enough to facepalm, metal hand meeting metal forehead.<p>

"Way ahead of you!" he called out, "What took you so freaking long?"

"Heimdall took more convincing than I had expected!"

Smash, crack, and another robot went flying out of the park.

"Way to make a home run, buddy!" Clint quipped from his position against the wall, pumping his fist in the air when he target made a nasty creaking noise and stopped, an arrow sprouting from the center of what would have been its face. It promptly exploded. "If this hero gig doesn't work out long-term, try going into the major leagues; they'll love you!"

"I do not know what these major leagues are, but if they are anything like smashing these, they will receive serious consideration!"

"So, why didn't Heimdall want to help you?" Steve ducked in close to be within hearing range of Thor, batting away robots left and right with his shield. At the question, the amusement on the other man's face faded into a mutinous glower.

"Something about how he was not allowed to give out information on those banished. I stopped listening after he said no and resorted to nagging. It did work eventually but he put up much more of a fuss than I would prefer." Steve resisted the urge to grumble right along with his friend, knowing that it would be pointless. Nevertheless, he may have become a bit more vicious in making headway than he had previously. "Have any of you seen Loki?"

"Plenty of broken Doombots but we haven't found him yet."

There was a moment of quiet, the only sound being that of metal twisting before the wave of robots died and broke.

"And the doctor?"

Steve looked away.

"No sign of her either—"

And then something began to happen. A tidal wave of emerald green came racing at them, not from the end of the hallway but through the wall itself, smashing through like it meant nothing. It radiated out from the center like a shock wave, in the manner of a flame that flushed out rabbits. The few remaining Doombots disintegrated into dust with a touch but on skin it caused no more than a fizzy little tingle, as if testing them and finding them worthy.

There was a moment of relief, like everything might turn out okay.

Until it wasn't.

The rumble that began to echo through the castle was ominous, less like the explosions of battle or shattering stone but more as if the entire building was groaning and swaying and threatening to fall down at any minute.

And then it began to.

Paneling began to drop off of the ceiling as if they had never been attached, wires still attached to them, ripping as they fell and sending off sparks that had nothing now to set ablaze.

_Hell_.

"I must find Loki!" Thor roared over the din, somehow louder now despite the quieted yammering of the Doombots. "This is his work!"

"The entire castle's coming apart at the seams!" Tony hollered back, landing solidly to the ground.

"Exactly," Thor replied, "He is still here somewhere. I must see him out!"

"I'm sure he's fine!"

Thor surveyed the wreckage, blue eyes following the green that hadn't harmed them but ruined everything else in its wake. This was not the kind of spell that Loki enjoyed. He preferred a light touch, hitting only the things he wanted and nothing that he didn't, the dagger to the ballista. This was wasteful and careless with only the minimum of discretion. He would only use a spell like this if it was a last resort, if all he could do was lash out. If he had no other choice.

And if Loki had no other choice, Thor didn't want to think about what had put him in that situation.

Thor had every confidence in him but nevertheless, a feeling of dark unease took root somewhere in his stomach, making him fidget and fret.

"I am certain he is not," he answered finally. "You must all get out of here before everything comes down. I will search for my brother."

Natasha didn't waste time with an acknowledgement and was in fact already out the door but Clint shot off a hasty salute as he followed after her. There was no point in using doors or hallways now; there were enough holes in the walls that they could see the outside with ease.

It was dark and it was still snowing relentlessly, a wave of white against an ink background.

Thor felt suddenly sick.

Loki had already been abandoned once in the dark, in the snow.

It would _not_ be happening again.

"Tony, you make sure everyone's got a clear way out and try and herd Hulk outside without causing any more damage," Steve took over suddenly, straightening to his full height and speaking with all expectation of being obeyed, "I'm going to help Thor find Loki."

Tony might have looked like he wanted to protest (it was always a bit difficult to tell when he actually had the faceplate down) but after a brief hesitation did as Steve asked, getting Hulk's attention with a light kick in the head and began taunting him out of the castle.

Steve sighed.

"Okay," he began, shifting a little at Thor's unreadable look, "You got that way, I'll go this way. He's the epicenter, right?"

"If you mean whether that wave of magic originated from him, yes."

Steve nodded.

"Okay. Let's do this and get the hell out of here. If I ever have to see Latveria again, it will be too soon."

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><p>AN2: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you have anything at all to say, be it criticism or praise.<p> 


	34. Copper

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: OKAY, SO. Apparently, I'm a loser and posted this this morning with the back end of the last chapter attached. I'm a giant stupid moron and I'm sorry. XD This is apparently what happens when I try and get stuff done before work in the mornings. Anyway, this is obviously a repost, AKA the final chapter 34. God help me if there's anything wrong with this one, I'm going to go and smash Tokyo.<p>

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><p>Chapter Thirty-Four: Copper<p>

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><p>Loki thought that he'd hurt before. That was nothing compared to how he felt now.<p>

Any mortal, he knew, would definitely have perished.

The only reason that he had not was sheer luck.

Loki shivered.

They were buried under a mountain of stone and metal that he'd brought upon them and the only noises now were the sounds of his own breathing, harsh and heavy. He _hurt_. But he'd succeeded, at least to the point that they were both alive, though the doctor looked to be unconscious. Everything hurt: his back, shoulders, legs. His arms were bracing against what was left of the wall, keeping a good deal of rubble from collapsing atop the both of them, and they shook with strain.

He had to get out, Loki knew. He couldn't do this forever and eventually it would become hard to breathe.

He had to get them out.

Loki gave a little testing push, up and back and _ow_, that hurt like, in the words of Tony Stark, a bitch. They couldn't stay here.

Gritting his teeth, Loki gave another push, harder this time, pushing until he heard the sound of stone scraping on stone. A little more, a little more, a little more—

And then it all stopped.

Loki pushed again.

It wouldn't move.

"No, no, no, no, no!" he chanted, steadily growing more frantic. "I will not let this happen. I will not, I will not, I will not." They could not stay here. He tried again. Nothing, just solid, unmovable rock over his back. Despite it all, Loki felt heat building up behind his eyes, frustration turning to anger turning to despair because under any other circumstances, at _any_ other time, this would be nothing to him. Any other time, he would be able to handle this easily, magic or no magic.

As it was, his efforts only left him hurting more and even more tired.

Loki choked a breath.

Of course.

The one time, the _one_ time that someone else was relying on him, of course he wouldn't be able to manage to pull them through.

They would die here like dogs, _she_ would die here. And it would be his fault. She would die before he would, and he would be stuck in the darkness and cold, holding a corpse until he succumbed himself, either to hunger or asphyxiation. It would be years and years and years if he didn't die by other means first, Loki knew. Years and years, and he would likely be mad again by the time it finally happened, too broken to appreciate it.

Loki cut back the angry sob that threatened to come loose. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. Not here, not like this, not helpless and stupid and _weak_ like everyone always said he was.

"No!" he snarled, voice pitching, "No! This will not—this cannot—"

He gave another heave.

And then, miraculously, something above him began to move. And continued to move even after Loki himself had stilled.

Until finally, a crack of light broke through, silvery moonlight shining through the dust in the air, and fresh air, and they would not die today.

Loki stared up into the worried face of Steve Rogers and could have wept in relief.

She would not die today, not because of him.

"Are both of you alright?" Rogers asked, reaching down and helping to haul Loki out of his crevice because he could not and would not release the body he now clasped tightly in his arms. The dark-haired man found that for the time being he couldn't form words, so focused was he on being alive, on relief and hope and gratitude that surged up inside him in a way that made him both warm and distinctly terrified. "Loki?"

The words were concerned but for the moment all Loki could do was stand statue-still and white-knuckled and shaking, shoulders trembling with the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. Never before had he felt at once so weak and strong.

A hand reached out and brushed his shoulder.

"Loki?" Steve was more insistent this time, "Talk to me, please. We need to get both of you out of here."

Loki looked up, green eyes hooded.

This could only happen one way.

"She needs treatment," he finally said, stepping closer and gesturing to Caroline, "As soon as possible. You are fresh and faster than I am right now. You must take her."

Blue eyes blinked in confusion, flicking from Loki to the doctor and back to Loki.

"You're talking like you're not coming with me."

Loki smiled, a tiny little sad thing. How could he possibly say all that he needed to right now? That he could barely take another step right now? That he'd only drag them down? That if Rogers didn't hurry, this whole thing might be for nothing? Eventually, he settled on,

"That would be because I am not."

Steve glared and stepped forward to practically bump Loki in the chest, stopped only by the reminder that he was holding precious cargo.

"I can carry both of you—"

"You cannot. She is injured and I will _not_ have you dangling her upside down over your shoulder like a bag of beans. I am heavier than she is and I will slow you down."

"But there's no way you can get out of here on your own! Please, you have to let me help you!"

"You are a good man, Steve Rogers. I mean it with-" Loki's voice stuttered and shook for just a moment, a moment he would deny to his last breath ever happening, "With every bit of sincerity I possess." He reached out and patted Steve on the cheek, briefly, before grasping his shoulder in a firm grip. "Out of all the so-called heroes in this world, how many of them use a shield? Your weapon is protecting others, safety, keeping others from harm, and that is something that no one else does. And now, you have people you need to protect. So _go_. Right now, there are people who need the protection you offer more than me."

"But Loki, you'll—"

"I have taken worse and lived to tell the tale. Go, now. If she dies, I won't ever forgive you."

Steve drew a shaky, stuttering breath and looked Loki in the eyes. The man was deadly serious, his eyes dark and showing none of the feeling that came out in his voice. Was he afraid? Loki looked sick and drained, as drained as he'd looked when he'd first woken up in Malibu, and he swayed slightly on his feet, just enough to be noticed. Blood still dripped down his chin, slow and sluggish because he hadn't the spare hand to wipe it away.

Steve did it for him.

"You're lying to me."

"I do that, yes," Loki admitted and allowed the tiny crooked smile to widen on his face, "There are things worth protecting, Steve Rogers, things worth more than I. So protect them. You have shown me a great kindness though you have little reason to do so, and I will not forget it. Do the hard work and I will do what I do best-" his face darkened, "Which right now is bringing this entire forsaken place to the ground and further. If you be worthy, use that shield of yours. Bid them speed, keep them safe. Am I understood?" Without ado, he handed over the limp woman in his arms. "Please do not think badly of me for this. My regards, Captain."

As he spoke, Loki grabbed onto the tiny flicker of power he still possessed, took a firm hold, and yanked.

And then he blinked out entirely, leaving Steve alone with an unconscious doctor who was beginning to stir. Sparks began to fly off of the circuitry in the walls; whatever Loki had done to cause the rest of the building to collapse in on itself hadn't stopped, though this particular room had long been quiet. The lights blinked and flicked off and a sudden crash behind him made him jump.

A panel from the remaining walls came loose and tumbled to the ground, sending shrapnel and clods of dust and dirt everywhere.

Oh, hell.

"I'm gonna kill him," Steve snarled under his breath and began sprinting down the hall, dodging flames and crumbling wall, "He is going to be so dead when I get my hands on him."

_As long as he isn't dead already_, the treacherous part of his brain insisted, _By the time you get to threaten him next-_ Steve squashed it down. There was no time for this, this running in circles.

He was at the crossroads.

Caroline raised a hand and rubbed at her forehead, letting out a low, pained whine from her throat.

Steve could do as Loki said and find the rest of the group, make sure they had all gotten out safely, and get the hell out of dodge. Or he could do what he desperately wanted, which was to find Loki and wring his neck until he admitted that he was a stupid, good-hearted idiot just like the rest of them.

Blue eyes closed and he steadied himself, adjusting Caroline in his arms.

He'd get out, he'd find Tony, and then he'd be back in here.

"You stupid ass," he growled, "You're worth protecting too!"

Gritting his teeth, Steve forced himself to keep going and continue to the outside. If he'd turned and looked behind him, he might have seen the motionless metal hand and the edge of a bloodied green cape sticking out from underneath the worst of the rubble.

When he was gone, Loki reappeared exactly where he'd been standing previously, breathing hard. All he'd been able to manage was a cloaking spell, the first thing he'd ever learned to do. Green eyes blinked slowly and he sagged against a boulder, sliding down to sit on the floor. He was tired. He was tired and the world was spinning and he was slowly bleeding out.

"I suppose it's you and me," he said to the empty room and Victor's corpse. It was alright, though, he told himself. Even if this wasn't how he wanted it to be, even though the last thing he'd ever said to Thor was something hurtful, even if he'd never gotten to fix what had been broken…

He'd done what he'd said he would and accomplished his task.

Loki had _won_.

It was with that quiet, beautiful thought that Loki allowed himself to smile broadly and lean back, embracing the darkness that followed.

* * *

><p>Loki wasn't awake for the wall being smashed in with a hammer, of the look of terror and horror on Thor's face, or of tears that dripped down scruffy cheeks and into a beard to land on his face.<p>

He wasn't awake to protest being lifted into strong arms, to being held as if he were something precious and breakable.

He slept through the indignity of being subjected to Thor's medical training, the spells fumbling and strained but effective nonetheless, just enough to keep him alive for a time. That was all that they were expected to do and they did their job despite the inexperience of the caster.

He was still and silent through being trundled into the quinjet and didn't get to hear Thor kick up a fuss over refusing to put him down so that a de-Hulked Bruce could do his best to treat what he could the best he could.

Loki slept through the ride back, slept through taking Caroline to a proper hospital, slept through being given a number of liquids that Tony gave an intense side-eye to that Thor swore would help, that had come from Loki's own stores of healing supplies.

He slept through Thor sleeping through the rest of the trip, his grip on Loki never once faltering to let him fall or slip. He slept through Steve leaning down to whisper an apology in his ear and run a tentative hand over his hair from the seat next to Thor.

He wouldn't be able to appreciate the look of shock on everyone's faces when they arrive back at the mansion. Or rather, what had once been the mansion that was now mostly a charred hull that was filled with the remains of Doombots, that was currently being ruled over by a frightening triumphant JARVIS.

Not only did Loki miss out on all of that but he was motionless through the entirety of the move, of hurriedly taking everything that could be salvaged from the house (JARVIS had protected most of the private rooms and Thor thanked his lucky stars for that, because no one would have wanted to be the one to tell Loki that his books had been ruined and Natasha used a face cream that cost seventy dollars a tube and no one would have wanted to face _her_ wrath either.)

They moved everything to New York, into the tower that Tony had built when he was in his New York phase until he had decided that he liked California better. Fury had thrown a royal fit about all of it and it wasn't until at least two hours later that he even started in on them about the situation with Loki. Loki, who at the time had finally been released from Thor's clutches and put in a proper bed.

Thor threw a fit right back at him and Tony actually went and _made popcorn_, which they all ended up eating.

Loki remained limp and motionless through the process of Thor removing his armor, the armor that had just barely kept his ribs from being crushed in his move to bring the ceiling down, the armor that had rusty-red stains all up and down the underside from a phantom wound that didn't show on his skin. He didn't get to appreciate the gentleness of Thor's hands and the way he made sure to be gentle with his greaves because durable they might have been but they were also his favorites.

Loki slept through Thor screaming angrily up at the sky from the rooftop, cursing everything about Heimdall and not quite daring to return to Asgard lest he actually throw a punch at the Guardian in the process. Thor's temper had much improved but no one wanted to test it all that much, most of all Thor himself, not when he was needed and had something to lose.

Two weeks, three days, and daily thunderstorms later, Loki opened his eyes.

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><p>AN2: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review if you liked this, or even if you want to smack me upside the head with a salmon.<p> 


	35. Moonstone

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Thirty-Five: Moonstone<p>

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><p>It was to a hand in his hair and a sunbeam on his face that Loki awoke.<p>

For a good while he simply lay still and blinked in order to get his bearings back, put everything in his head back in order, try and figure out what was going on. That last one, unfortunately, would require some amount of information because last Loki checked he was still in Latveria, bleeding to death.

He certainly hadn't been in a ridiculously comfortable bed with a comforter tucked up to his chin, in yet again an unfamiliar place.

"Brother?"

For the first time in so long a time that Loki couldn't even recall, the word made his lips tilt up.

"We need to stop meeting like this," he croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. "It's becoming cliché."

"We cannot have that," Thor confirmed and leaned over to press himself close, clearly trying to be mindful and not jostle him around too much. At this point, Loki would have welcomed the jostling. "I am so glad that you are awake."

And then it all came back in a rush and Loki was jolting upright, too soon and too fast and not a second later had doubled over in pain.

"Loki, be calm. You are not at your best—"

"Doctor Moran, is she alright?" Loki blurted out words harried and unfocused and suddenly scared, "Please tell me that she's alright."

"She is fine!" Thor insisted and Loki had to believe him because he wouldn't have lied about something like that, "I promise you, she is fine. She merely needed some time in the hospital to recover completely. You saved her life by giving her to the Captain. Everyone is fine. Everyone is safe."

Large hands made their way to his shoulders and encouraged him to lie down again. Loki gave in to the pressure and found himself being tucked back in and his hair being stroked once again. Thor had always been good at that, he mused. Always knew just the right places to scratch and how much nail to use.

"That's…that is good," Loki breathed and settled down. He took the time to catalogue his physical state, finding no injuries or pain but instead a deep weariness. "I'm glad."

"You did well, my brother. Be calm, you did well and everyone is safe."

Loki closed his eyes and sighed, going completely slack. Absently, he reached up to stroke his neck, expecting to find the return of those magical restraints, but there was nothing. Nothing but smooth, bare skin all the way down to the neckline of the loose-fitting Henley that someone had put him in at some point. Green eyes snapped open, staring incredulously at Thor. Who smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"We decided that it would be rude," he said delicately, "Nick Fury was most adamant but I was…more so." Loki's little smile widened, into the one that meant he was concealing laughter, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. That encounter was one that he would have liked to see. "You are no one's prisoner. You are here merely for recuperation, at the end of which you are free to leave as you please."

The world tilted and left Loki behind.

"…what?" was all he could say, ineloquent and incredulous.

"You are no one's prisoner," Thor repeated dutifully and matched Loki stare for stare. His face was serious and he wouldn't lie, not about something like this. "When you are properly rested, you are free to leave."

The words were the same but Loki still couldn't quite believe it.

For a few seconds, Loki just narrowed his eyes and watched. Thor had a funny look on his face, like he had something he desperately wanted to say but wasn't sure how Loki would react to it. Loki hated that look.

"What is it?" he asked. "There is something else."

Thor bit his lip and looked away. His hands, had they not been otherwise occupied, might have twisted in his lap.

"I must apologize to you," he said finally, "And I keep realizing, over and over again, how very bad at it I am."

Loki raised a brow.

"I should not have tried to stop you," Thor elaborated slowly, "I should realized sooner that you could not let that stand. I was…worried for you, and I chose to contain you rather than do what I ought and then I chose to do what was easy rather than what was right. If I hadn't been so stubborn, you wouldn't have had to injure yourself so grievously to do what you must." And then he looked angry and frustrated, but at himself. "I am so tired of doing things that I must apologize for. I am sorry, Loki. I cannot say it enough."

Loki just stared at him, a surprisingly candid, absolutely flummoxed look taking hold of his features. He was silent so long that Thor stopped scratching and bit his lip and ventured, hesitantly,

"Brother? Say something, please."

"Hush a moment; I'm thinking," Loki replied, still half stupid with surprise. Finally he said, quiet and almost shy, "I'm not entirely sure why you're sorry. It's not like I gave you any indication that I would do anything other than go upstairs and sulk. Even I know that I'm rather known for it. Any actions I took were mine and my own responsibility and I don't regret them. Nor should you. Consider them honorable and mighty battle wounds or something." He wriggled his shoulders a little, loosening some of the tension in them.

The explanation apparently didn't help because Thor still looked upset.

"What would you have me do?"

At that, Thor honestly looked as if he might cry right there and Loki realized with a start exactly what Thor wanted him to do and it hadn't even really crossed his mind that he might have needed to. He hadn't taken into consideration that Thor might blame himself even a little bit because Loki didn't, not even a little bit.

Blue eyes looked away and Loki got his attention again by clearing his throat.

"I don't think it's entirely necessary, still, but if it's what you want, I accept your apology. And I…I also apologize. For worrying you." The words came softly, unfamiliar on Loki's tongue.

It was exactly what Thor needed, for his face lit up in a relieved but brilliant smile and Loki felt none of the resentment and obligation that he had expected.

"Oh look, sleeping beauty's up. This a private party?" came a dry voice from the doorway and Loki glanced over to see Tony leaning up against the frame, a crooked grin playing on his face. "Took you long enough. Funny, though, people are usually prettier at the end of it." He snickered when Loki glared and threw him an obscene hand gesture amidst Thor's offended _Brother, stop that!_ "It's good to see you back to snuff, though."

"In _your_ case, people are only prettier with the more alcohol you consume," Loki retorted without missing a beat, then sobering. "I must admit, it's good to _be_ back up to snuff."

"I don't know what snuff is but you are _not _back up to it yet," Thor insisted, "Not if sitting up tires you."

Normally, Loki might have protested being seen like this, especially by Stark. Being exhausted, covered in blankets, and submitting to head scratches by Thor was not exactly the way to go about being intimidating and yet… he found that he didn't really care all that much. It was a little hard to care about something like that after making such a drunken fool of himself earlier…

Wait.

_How_ much earlier?

"How long have I been here?"

"Eh, 'bout two weeks," Tony replied easily, "Better than the first time. Three damn weeks looking after you and not a bit prettier after that one either."

"When I get out of this bed, you are dead," Loki promised.

Okay, so maybe it lacked a little something.

"Thor, you are destroying my efforts to be intimidating. Stop that—Oh, to hell with you, just keep doing that." With that, Loki threw away his pride and let himself languish in the attention. Two weeks it had been, then.

Experimentally, he poked at his magic supply. It was as tired as he was but replenishing the way it should have been, having been given the proper recovery time. Good. Loki didn't bother trying to get up again and instead curled up on his side, burying his face into the pillow. Whatever energy he'd had fled him now, leaving him feeling heavy and sluggish.

"'M tired," he mumbled, voice muffled in fabric. "Oh," he spoke up again, almost like a tired afterthought, "Where are we?"

Thor scratched gently at the nape of Loki's neck and he resisted the urge to purr.

"We are currently in New York, in Tony's home. Doom destroyed the house in California."

"Oh…okay. I remember that place…the sign was ugly."

"Hey!" Tony protested, "That's _my_ ugly tower you're insulting."

"I know, that's why I am insulting it." The more Loki spoke, the quieter his voice got until he was whispering into the pillowcase. He stifled a yawn and closed his eyes, managing to reach out and pat Thor on the hand. For now at least, things could be okay and they were all safe and Loki trusted Thor would guard him until he woke next.

"We will let you sleep, then," Thor murmured in his ear, "Be at peace and rest well."

The lights flicked off and Loki felt safe, wrapped up in warmth.

* * *

><p>Loki's first waking encounter with Steve Rogers involved a couple of panini and a glass of orange juice.<p>

"If you are going to stand there and stare at me, at least give me that sandwich first as payment for the show," Loki demanded from his blanket cocoon, "One of those had better be for me because I am hungry enough to fight you for it. This is the first time I can so much as think about food without wanting to throw up and you have not _seen_ the things I can do when I'm hungry."

"No need, it's yours," Steve informed him, entering the room properly. Loki hauled himself upright to lean against the headboard. Still stupidly exhausting but he could manage on his own and for the first time in he didn't know how long, he was properly hungry. Loki let the blankets slip off of bare shoulders and reached out for the offering that was wrapped up in a napkin.

Somehow, he was even more ravenous after tearing through the sandwich (chicken and pesto with sun-dried tomato) and Steve only looked resigned as he handed over the other at Loki's expectant (and vaguely embarrassed) look. Halfway through the second, Loki gave a pointed stare towards the plate still in Steve's hands.

"..Thor couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he?"

"He may have said something about you probably about ready to eat a horse if that's what you mean."

That was exactly what Loki meant.

Loki just sighed a little and shrugged. There were worse things that Thor could have said and to be honest, it wasn't like he couldn't do with the food. He'd be all right to get up soon and take care of himself just like the first time but it was kind of…nice to not have to.

"Loki?"

He glanced up. Steve was watching him seriously with a look on his face that reminded Loki a little too much of Thor when he felt he'd done wrong. A dark eyebrow tilted up in acknowledgement.

"I am so sorry."

And well, _that_ was surprising.

Was there something in the water that was making everyone he knew spontaneously seek his forgiveness? Really?

Loki set the sandwich down and finished chewing before replying with a slightly incredulous,

"…for _what_?"

Steve looked away and twisted his hands his lap. He was shifting on the balls of his feet next to the bed and for a few moments too long he didn't answer, as if trying to pick through what was most important to say first.

"I should never have just left you. There should have been another way, I should have been able to—"

Loki stared through the first part and then it hit him, and he frowned. Absolutely not. Time to head this off at the pass.

"Do not make me hurt you," he interrupted firmly, "I'd really rather not get up just yet. In case you hadn't noticed, let me reiterate for you: I emotionally manipulated you by handing you an injured civilian and then forced your hand. There was no other choice for you and that was the way I intended it. I am not going to blame you for something I orchestrated, so do not be sorry."

"…you are such a jerk, do you know that?"

"So I've been told. Still, everyone lived to talk about it, yes?"

"Yes. Barely, but yes."

"Barely still counts," Loki said with a shrug, trying to ignore the residual fear that rose up at his own words, at all of the should haves, would haves, could haves. The very real truth that had anything gone differently, someone definitely would have died. Now, the sheer amount of what-ifs made him feel sick with dread. Loki had thought, at one point not very far away at all, that he might be okay with dying.

That wasn't true now.

He wasn't okay with it, not at all. Not buried under a falling castle and slowly bleeding to death, not with someone depending on him.

Maybe not at all.

Loki realized belatedly that the full-body shiver that ran through him had shown and that now he was being watched with intense scrutiny. Steve still radiated guilt and shame and that just wouldn't do at all, it wouldn't do _at all_. Loki kicked off the rest of the blankets, pushing them into a heap on the foot of the bed.

"You, sit," he said, making a hand gesture in the general direction of the edge of the bed. Steve looked confused but complied nevertheless and when he was seated, Loki leaned forward to embrace him. It was a light, unassuming little thing and Steve stiffened into it for half a second out of surprise before relaxing and returning it in the form of arms around his waist, squeezing firmly just as his face dropped into Loki's shoulder. "What is it with me and _blondes_?" Loki muttered under his breath, half joking and half to himself, "Yes, yes. Be calm, everything is fine."

Steve pulled away and gave a telling sniff; Loki thanked everything in existence that his eyes were dry and that there would no imminent tears.

"I'm still sorry, though. Even though it was what you wanted me to do, it shouldn't have happened. And also…I'm sorry for trying to make you sit it out. Maybe it wouldn't have gone so pear-shaped if we'd used our brains a little bit more and let you do what you needed to."

And not for the first time, Loki hadn't a clue of what to do, what to say.

There was a time that he might have let his hackles go up and take the shot that Steve was offering, simply because he could. It was an opening freely given, the equivalent of Rogers rolling over and showing his belly.

At one point, Loki might have felt condescension, disdain for such a gesture.

All he felt now though was a strange sort of purring warmth that started somewhere in his stomach and worked its way out to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"I do wish you would stop making me repeat myself, you and Thor both," Loki said quietly after some deliberation, speaking up just before he could see Rogers start to squirm with discomfort. "I said it before: you are a good man. An idiot, but a good man regardless. Your apology is…unnecessary, but appreciated. Thank you, Captain Rogers."

And then it was Loki who was being grabbed in a retaliatory hug, where he sputtered indignantly until he was released and then devoted his entire attention to the rest of his sandwich, lest he look the other man in the eyes.

* * *

><p>By the third day of being reliably coherent, the door opened and for once it wasn't Thor or one of the other residents, but a very familiar redhead, hair now cropped short but still with those ridiculous glasses atop her head.<p>

And Loki found himself scrambling to throw himself out of bed for the first time in weeks, stumbling across the room, and throwing his arms around her like he hadn't seen her in years.

"Doctor, I am _so_ very relieved that you are well," he murmured quietly and Caroline hugged him back, smiling into his shoulder.

"And _I_ am so very relieved that _you_ are well," she informed him, pulling away and beaming up at him. "It was hard to not come by sooner."

"I wouldn't have minded it."

"Perhaps not, but you were tired and still healing and that was what you needed to focus on. And if I'd come sooner, you might have pushed yourself too hard too fast and ended up on the floor."

Loki gave a sheepish little shrug of the shoulders. Point to her, he supposed, because he likely would have done exactly that and then been cranky and embarrassed for the next while.

"Was it…bad?" he asked suddenly, cocking his head and staring at her intently. Caroline looked away. Her hands twisted a little in front of her.

"It was pretty close," she eventually admitted, voice gentle but honest. Loki appreciated that, appreciated that she'd tell him the truth without malice. "By the time I got to the hospital, there was already a good deal of brain swelling and the doctors didn't know if they were going to be able to bring it down." Loki felt suddenly ill. "But it's okay. I'm okay, you're okay. We're all okay. It took almost a week, but I'm feeling fine."

Loki's throat constricted and his hands clenched in the hem on his shirt.

Doctor Moran looked to be in bright spirits but something about her was slightly off, a jumpiness that had never been there before. It was the same sort of jumpiness that insisted he know where all the doors and windows were, just in case he needed them.

The knot tightened. Loki dropped his head.

"I'm so sorry," he choked out, voice miserable and his words tripping over each other, "I never—I never meant for something like this to happen. I'm sorry." Shame and misery chased away relief and pleasure and Loki found himself staring intently at the floor, unable to look up at all. "This is my fault, I've done this. All of this—" he made a distressed, all-encompassing hand gesture, "How could you ever forgive me?"

"It's true," Caroline said bluntly, "I'm not quite myself. I haven't yet gotten to the point that I can sleep without at least one light on and it took way too long to convince myself to not get a permit for concealed carry, considering that I fancy myself more the make-love-not-war type. The jury's still out on the panda tracer. But Loki, this isn't your fault. Do you know where all the blame goes?"

Loki didn't speak.

"All of this can be blamed on Victor von Doom. Not you. Not your fault," she enforced her words by reached out and giving his hand a squeeze, "I'll say it a thousand times and if you need me to say that I forgive you, I'll say that too. But there is nothing to forgive because you didn't do this." Caroline smiled. "Once things settle down, I'll be going to a few sessions with someone who can help me adjust a little and get back into the swing of things. Even doctors need a little help sometimes. Now, come on. Cheer up a bit, it's going to look pretty silly if you look like that the whole time you're eating the cake I brought."

Loki gave a weak laugh but nevertheless straightened up, adjusting his clothing on the way.

"You brought cake?" He asked. The interest was genuine albeit a bit hesitant and Caroline laughed, a light sound that hovered in the air like a bell.

"Yes, provided that no one has eaten it already."

"…did you _tell_ anyone not to eat it?" Loki asked with a sinking feeling, "Or leave a note? Or maybe even an electrified dog fence?"

Caroline shook her head.

"It's only been a few minutes, I just left it on the counter…"

"Damn," Loki swore under his breath. Had he been a little more up to speed he would have been sprinting, as it was he settled for walking as quickly as he could down the hallway that he wasn't entirely familiar with, occasionally grabbing on to the wall for balance, "Stark! Barton!" he bellowed, voice not matching the state of his body, "Touch that cake and you're both dead! You hear me? _Dead_!"

Doctor Moran shook her head and followed at a more sedate pace.

She had never seen him quite so content with his lot and it suited him so well.

* * *

><p>They manage to save the cake.<p>

Kind of, if one could consider saving the cake merely keeping it from being prematurely eaten.

Loki half falls into the kitchen just as Tony is about to take a knife to it and surprises him to the point that he hacks it in raggedy halves, much to Loki's intense dismay and the amusement of about everyone else.

Tony apologizes.

Kind of, if one could consider a sheepish _whoops_ an apology, but that's all anyone's going to get out of him so it will have to do.

Mostly he just pokes at Loki in about every way he can and gets some rather creative insults thrown his way in retaliation, creative (and loud) enough that Steve pops his head in, surveys the situation, and immediately knows what happened. Mothering bastard. So he rolls his eyes and takes the knife away and starts cutting up the cake properly because Loki's still trading barbs with Tony (he thinks they're enjoying it much more than they would ever in a thousand years admit to) and asks Caroline how she's feeling because unlike most people in this house, he's a gentleman.

Kind of, if one could still be considered a gentleman after eventually telling the both of them to sit down and shut up before he makes them, because even though Steve wouldn't hurt a fly, god only help you if you leave the toilet seat up. For such an unassuming, harmless guy, Steve is really good at making people apologize. Proper apologies too, not Tony apologies.

Or Loki apologies, which tend to consist mostly of food offerings because no one else in this damn house can cook.

So Loki and Tony are still bickering (silently and only with their eyes now) and Steve's cutting the cake and Caroline is perched on a stool and apparently the mentions of cake have drawn the attention of Clint, who walks in and uncaringly swipes his finger deep into the icing right on top, dipping until it hits cake and dragging crumbs out on the way up. Loki sputters furiously and Tony mutters something nasty under his breath about cooties and Natasha's underthings mysteriously showing up in the 'nest' and Steve sends him That Look which normally has an effect except that it doesn't because Clint couldn't be more pleased with himself right now, licking icing off his fingers.

Loki exchanges a significant Look of his own with Tony and while no words are spoken between them, there's a sudden chill in the air as if somehow, an unholy partnership straight from the depths of hell has just been formed.

Justice will be done.

Kind of, if one considers justice to take the form of the sudden appearance of a whoopi cushion _inside_ Hawkeye's pants, which honestly, they all kind of do at this point because weirder things have happened.

Everyone's a little too scared to comment on Tony sticking his hand out underneath the table, palm up, and Loki reaching out to slap it with his own.

The ruckus in the kitchen grabs the attention of Natasha, who's just gotten back from getting a manicure (Loki's recommended her to Mrs. Kim, whom she can't help but adore already because she's tiny and adorable and a fan of tough love, which Natasha can get behind all the way) and she, unlike the rest of them, manages to somehow enter the kitchen without destroying anything but that doesn't stop her from kicking Tony's chair on the way in just because she can.

Tasha and Pepper have always gotten along like a house on fire and Tony wonders whether it's his destiny to be surrounded by beautiful women who can kick his ass with their eyes closed. It's a good thing that he doesn't say this aloud because the answer would be a resounding, unanimous yes, and that's just not fair because friends are supposed to support you, not do…whatever they tend to do.

Kind of, because Steve's the most supportive person any of them have ever met and Thor's well-meaning but takes the word support far too literally and Clint's just a dick sometimes.

Eventually, the inevitable shrieks from the kitchen drag Bruce out of his lab (he's been playing around with Tony's toys and has, in the process, created a sandwich press that even Thor can work) and he walks in, only to trip over Clint's outstretched foot. He flings his hands out to catch himself and while one lands on the table, the other….

Lands solidly on the edge of the cake, squashing about a quarter of it under his weight.

Loki looks completely horrified and Caroline has her face in her hands and Tony's already hooting with laughter, but Bruce goes red and starts apologizing and doesn't stop until Natasha pats him on the shoulder, a surprisingly understanding smile on her pretty face. A second later, she's leveling a glare that promises murder on Clint, who refuses to look ashamed of himself despite the fact that this is pretty much all his fault.

Kind of. It would be all his fault if not for the fact that Loki had surprised Tony to the point that he nearly ruined it the first time, which wouldn't have happened had Tony been patient in the first place and left it alone, which wouldn't have happened if Caroline hadn't been silly enough to let it out of her sight for a few minutes in this lair of impatient animals.

Still, it's salvageable and Steve cuts the squashed edge off while Loki stares at it balefully and they're all wondering whether it might actually get cut into pieces this time, maybe, just maybe.

Except that it doesn't because it wouldn't be a party without Thor and he's not far behind Bruce, cheerful and booming and uncaring of the fact that Steve's holding a very, very sharp knife. It doesn't matter that it probably wouldn't hurt him all that much, Steve's instincts send him reeling backwards so as to avoid stabbing his friend in the chest and he knocks the table, which wobbles the plate, which sends the unbalanced cake toppling off the table to land solidly on the floor.

There's a heavy silence as everyone stares at Loki who's staring at the mess of frosting and cake chunks on the floor, mouth hanging open in some kind of ridiculous mixture of dismay and shock.

Biting her lip, Caroline reaches out a hand to pat him on the shoulder and Steve's stammering out apology after apology because oh god, he totally just destroyed his _cake_ and that is just not something that Steve Rogers does regularly.

And then Loki makes a funny little choking noise that turns into a breathy wheeze and then he's howling with laughter, full-throated peals of mirth, and he pounds on the table a few times with a hand before dropping his head onto the wood with a thunk.

He laughs until he's red in the face and practically crying and everyone is staring at him like he's a crazy person. Except for Thor, who's watching him with an unholy glee and looks about to start laughing himself. He doesn't stop laughing until he has to catch his breath, and they're quick and shallow and hard to catch but he doesn't mind because he feels so light, like a breeze could pick him up and carry him off like a dandelion and he wouldn't even care.

Eventually Loki's crows taper off into giggles and then into sniggers and then into little sobbing whimpers that might be his attempts to breathe normally but he's failing entirely and Tony asks the entire room who wants to put bets on him passing out in the next thirty seconds or so. Clint waves a twenty in the air until Natasha bats his hand down.

Loki thinks, then, that this might be what life feels like when it's better than just okay.

Kind of, mostly because okay is for people who settle and Loki's decided that he isn't going to settle anymore.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you all for reading! If you have anything at all to say about this story, I'd love to hear your comments. Feedback is life, you know. Or if you want to punt me over the Gulf of Mexico, that's cool too.<p> 


	36. Turquoise

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Holy. Freaking. Crap. You guys are amazing, seriously! Almost 1400 reviews on this baby, I really cannot believe it! Never in a thousand years did I ever think that this little fic of mine, this fic that was supposed to be a cracky little one-shot, would ever have this large of a following. It truly amazes and humbles me, not just as a writer but as a person who writes for fun because it makes me happy.<p>

Thank you so much.

Also, I will put the complete tag on this fic on the last chapter; there are a couple left after this one! It's not over until it's over, and I hope that you all continue to stay with me until the end.

Oh! I've already started a few new things, now that I'm officially done writing this baby.

_Thor/Avengers_:

**Thunderpunch  
><strong>Summary: No one really expects to end up with their nine-to-five nemesis shrunk down to pint size but that's what the Avengers get in the form of a confused, petrified little Norse god. No one really expects for him to have been such an adorable kid. For that matter, no one really expects for his strongest support to come in the form of Steve Rogers, much less Captain America himself. This is the story of how Steve Rogers takes on the role of everyone's mother.

**Untitled  
><strong>Summary: _Fate/stay night_ and _Avengers_ Xover. Tony Stark's never been very good at leaving well enough alone and while he's never had a lot of formal training, he's always wanted to be a mage, and who doesn't have a wish they'd like to have granted? He'll regret this line of thought when one magic ritual later, he's gotten himself flung head first into the Holy Grail War with someone who goes by Caster at his side. It doesn't help that Caster happens to be a man named Loki who's not particularly happy with being mistaken for a Heroic Spirit and has absolutely no intention of fighting a war for a wish, command seals or no command seals, and he's sure as hell not interested in fighting a war that has nothing to do with him for the sake of a mortal's ego and curiosity.

That's going to change when Jane Foster summons his brother, Thor, and things get personal.

_Tales of Graces_:

**Hubert and Pascal's Excellent (and Untitled) Adventure:  
><strong>Summary: In which Hubert and Pascal are big, dumb idiots, someone gets tackled, and both of them discover that everything's best with feelings. Rated M for ero and a happy ending. (Ever wonder what it's like when I write porn? This is it right here.)

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><p>Chapter Thirty-Six: Turquoise<p>

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><p>Loki left on a Sunday, unremarkable except for being the day before Monday, which was when he normally went to yoga before his life went upside-down and after Saturday, which used to belong to hours of sitting <em>seiza<em> and cutting stems and arranging blossoms and branches in a way that both appealed to him and the severe Japanese woman who ran the Ikebana class. He'd have to start going back; he'd missed it dearly. Actually, he missed it with an intensity he'd refused to allow himself before it became apparent that, given some time, he'd be able to go back.

He missed Lydia and Angelique from yoga, and Mrs. Kim with her strong, gentle hands.

Loki still didn't know where home was, but he was pretty sure that if he tried he might be able to make one. Home didn't have to be perfect but maybe it could be perfectly imperfect, with overflowing bookshelves and a cabinet door that squeaked no matter what he did to try and fix it and boxes of flowers that lent his penthouse a light, sweet scent that mingled with the smell of paper and ink and the spices he always had on hand.

Maybe home could be a leather chair and a stuffed bear that had been routinely flung against the wall and a cool, quiet place that let him be calm.

Maybe home didn't have to be a place at all. Maybe it could be a person, with warm eyes and a disposition that wasn't always gentle but generally well-intentioned and who despite it all, Loki had never stopped loving.

A person who, currently, was helping pile up Loki's belongings to transport in a way that wouldn't have his brother bristling with irritation. Loki wasn't even going all that far; to be entirely honest, he could see the massive glowing sign of Stark's ugly tower from his own living room windows, but Thor was acting as if he was going to the end of the world. Loki tried more than once to tell him that they'd been further away before but Thor would hear none of it and Loki had given up when he realized that see that hurt expression of betrayal still sent his heart and stomach into guilty knots.

"You are sure that you are fit to travel?"

And really, the only response to that was for the wings on Thor's helmet (safely stashed away in the other room) to start flapping on their own and escape to the outside, where it began to do loop-de-loops outside the window.

Once, Thor might have been angry.

Now it made him smile sheepishly and shrug, fixing Loki with a fond look. Loki, who noticed too late that it was a look he was matching on his own face before he could wipe it off.

"I am sorry," Thor said quietly, "But I cannot help but worry. You were so very close to dying and I knew that I would not be able to rely upon Heimdall's prudence. It _frightened_ me to be so helpless. Truly, I don't mean to be overbearing."

Dressed casually in green skinnies and an oversized hoodie, Loki sighed and stepped out of the ring of book stacks and bags of clothing to walk over to Thor, patting his arm.

"I am already being mothered by Rogers and I'm not entirely sure, but I think Stark had been keeping an eye on me too, and _that_ is overbearing. The Captain is one thing, but like _Tony_ can talk to anyone about needing looking after…" As did most conversations that came around to Tony Stark, this one also descended into grumbling, "But I digress. I admit, it's…difficult for me to get used to, but your concern is not…unwelcome." A smile was already beginning to lift Thor's lips and Loki tried to ignore the warm fuzzies making their triumphant return. "I would ask that you trust me, considering that I am more experienced by far in magical workings than you."

"But you are also prone to pushing yourself."

"Do I tell you how to swing Mjolnir?" Loki asked, placing his hands on his hips. "You stick to what you know and leave me to mine, please and thank you." Thor frowned again. "Thor, I assure you, I am fine and fit. And I will not be far."

Loki had a sudden stroke of genius, which in his opinion was a daily event, at least in this house, and held out a hand.

"Give me the phone that Stark gave you."

Thor handed it over and muttered something about not knowing how to use it and Loki took it from him, unlocking it and clicking into a new screen. A few moments later, he handed it back.

"Here. Slide this part to unlock it and then press 'two' on the screen. That will dial my phone. Alright? Or text or something, I don't really care. Whatever makes you feel better."

"Brother, I—I know that it did not happen under the best of circumstances, but I liked having you here," Thor admitted. "I do not want things to go back to the way they were. I do not want to go back to being blind in regards to you and I do not want you to feel the way you have before. That you've felt so alone for so long is unacceptable to me still. This world has been good for you as Asgard never was and truly, I am happy to see you in a place where you feel safe and, hopefully, content. And yet, it feels as if I am losing you."

Thor grit his jaw and looked away, stiff and unhappy and like he'd rather be crying instead.

Loki's response was a long, shocked exhale that left him wide-eyed and raw, as if Thor's words had physically scraped something painful inside him.

"Thor…" he breathed quietly, unsure of where to take this. Then, slowly, he opened his arms. "Come here a moment."

There wasn't any hesitation in the way that Thor flung himself forward to drag Loki into a crushing hug, reeling him in without so much as thinking about it. Loki patted his back.

"I need you to listen to me. Are you?"

Thor nodded into the juncture linking his neck and shoulder.

"I'd like it if you would stop feeling so guilty. We've both…we've both made our mistakes," Loki admitted, unable to stop the familiar feelings of his own shame and guilt making his stomach twist, "And we are _paying_ for them, now and probably for a good long while. I know that…" he stuttered, "I know that I am."

"But you were—"

"I asked you to listen, thank you," Loki interrupted, hands brushing patterns down Thor's spine. "Please listen until I've said my part. Yes, I was put under immense duress. Yes, I have been…unstable and fragile for a very, very long time. But despite where my mind was at that time, however chaotic and mad I was and how little I can call up from it, my actions were mine. And they were wrong. I was _wrong_, Thor. So let me take my part in it all so I can keep some small part of myself from being so ashamed. It doesn't mean that everything's perfect. It doesn't mean that I wasn't wronged. I do know that in some way. But that doesn't—that doesn't negate that I did commit the crimes for which I am accused. And whether it stems from pity or merely a sense of obligation, that also doesn't negate that I am…grateful for the chances that I'm being given. It is a gift that I don't particularly deserve, but I'm still taking it. We will speak again very soon about such things, but for now, I need to go." The words ripped him open in their honesty, so honest that they hurt and when Loki quieted, Thor squeezed him firmly.

"All I want is your happiness, Loki, however it comes."

And Loki couldn't help the smile that curled at his lips then, stunned and shamefully pleased.

"You speak as if this is some kind of long goodbye," he said, "My building is even within walking distance if you had taken the time to notice; you've even _been_ there." Loki crossed his arms and Thor stepped away looking sheepish but relieved, as if thinking himself silly for needing the reassurance. "One thing I've learned is that you can't ever go backwards. Not ever. I can't go back and neither can you. Only forward."

And he reached out a hand and flicked Thor sharply in the nose.

That said and done, Loki stepped back into his little circle of things that he'd made, stacked close enough to him that it would be no effort at all to transport them all right along with himself. He dragged Thor with him, just to the point that any closer and they might be at risk to start knocking things over and leaned in close, whispering in his ear,

"I will see you around, my brother."

Loki flicked out without another word and took his things with him, leaving Thor standing in the middle of an empty room, utterly thunderstruck.

He was still standing there when Steve popped his head in to check up on things, hunched over and futilely wiping at his eyes.

* * *

><p>Loki didn't lie when he said that it wasn't goodbye, not by a long shot. It wasn't because he had some sort of sight that allowed him to see into the future but more because he knew Thor and knew that he'd never be able to stand leaving him alone and because Loki now knew himself better than ever before and knew that <em>he'd<em> never be able to leave him alone. Not now, not after all this, and certainly not after he'd gotten ridiculously attached to his apartment.

The first thing that he thought when he winked into sight in the middle of his living room is that it was so good to be back. There was some cleaning to do; no dust and there hadn't been a break-in (who would dare, when he has his name on the door?) but his spells against unpleasant scents and general cleanliness hadn't stopped all his food from going bad and by this time, all of his flowers were long dead. The thought made him a little sad but Loki could replace them easily enough.

His magic sang when he uses it after such a long time going without but sometimes it felt good to do things by hand. Appreciate the process and not just the result, even when the process involved cleaning out flower boxes and the result was something empty, waiting to be filled with something new.

He just had to go back to class, which certainly wouldn't be a hardship for him at this point. He would have to wait a week but until then, he made sure to pop into the little flower shop run by a free-spirited man of about forty a few streets over to buy a cluster of daisies and another of lilies wrapped up in tissue.

He showed up at yoga the next day (and no matter what anyone says, he did _not_ anxiously hover just outside the door until Angie caught sight of him by chance and ran up to him, shrieking excitedly, to catch him in a brisk hug) and he found himself welcomed back with a warmth he didn't expect. It was one thing to be told that he'd been missed and quite another to see it, and not even Loki could ever be that blind. It's terrifyingly foreign in its normalcy, the way no one seems to _care_.

Oh, they cared that he'd been gone but because he'd never tried to hide who he was, they didn't care that he's Loki, only that he's back. And sometimes, that scared the daylights out of him.

No one hovered or simpered over his return, except that Angie wouldn't stop touching him and _that_ wasn't strange because she was always been incorrigible to the point that Loki didn't worry about it anymore, but Lydia made sure that he ended up with most of the hazelnuts when they split her granola and trail mix stash and _that _was strange because in his experience, she always took those for herself.

Loki was a little stiff and a little out of practice but with enough stretching it came back to him easily.

Knowledge, in his experience, was always easier to keep than it was to forget.

That credo applied to other things as well because when Loki makes sure to mean what he says, he's fully capable of keeping his word. Putting his mobile number into Thor's phone wasn't the only thing he did and numbers were easy for him to remember, far easier to remember than certain spells that he'd mastered over the years, and if Loki's made sure that he can get in contact with any given person on that contact list because Thor doesn't remember numbers like he does, he won't be telling anyone why.

He wasn't entirely sure why he did it. Actually, that's a lie because he knew exactly why he did it, but it was easier to tell himself that he didn't than admit the real reason, the reason that everyone would know had they known what he'd done:

He cared.

Sometimes Loki wished that he didn't but when it came down to it, he did nonetheless and there's nothing he could do except for make it easier on himself by doing what he can, even if that involved covertly stealing phone numbers and keeping an eye on the news and being sure to answer Thor's phone calls.

He _thought_ he'd been rather covert about the whole thing, really, and was actually in the process of congratulating himself when his phone rang and it was Tony demanding that he leave the next afternoon open and prepare for a kidnapping, because Tony wanted shawarma and Steve refused to go. Which was strange in itself because Loki knew for a stone-cold fact that Steve _loved_ shawarma to the point that at one point it became a game to taunt him with it so that couldn't possibly be it, but the only other option is that Tony seriously just wanted to do lunch with him, and that was just surreal as hell. After a moment of deliberation, he said yes anyway and they actually had a good time. So Loki couldn't really be too annoyed that Thor handed out his phone number, though he'd certainly put on a good show of pretending if anyone asked.

No one did because no one needed to.

Loki didn't want to do the hero thing.

He knew that his help would be accepted should he jump in, probably, but he didn't want to. He was content with what he had: sessions with Doctor Moran (who was already in a noticeably better state) twice a week and his otherwise normal routine that had been edited to allot for time spent with various people that he refused to admit that he might actually be friends with.

At least, that's what he said until a truck got thrown through the window of Mrs. Kim's salon and _then_ it was personal, and Loki found himself storming outside and right into the fray, manually yanking Rogers out of the way so that he could personally start pummeling someone's face in.

And then it was all downhill from there because suddenly, it's like he's getting into it all the time and maybe it was because someone out there was sore about his whole, as Tony called it, calling off villainy thing, but Loki didn't really care. The last straw was the bomb planted in the trash can next to his building where a very nice old woman walked her saint bernard and Loki ended up bursting into Stark's tower (which had by this point had his name removed, leaving only a large glowing A), full of angry demands that they _do_ something about this before he does, only to take care of it himself anyway because Loki had always been a firm advocate of doing your own dirty work.

The worst part of the whole thing was the reactions it garnered, he thought. Despite the fact that he didn't go out of his way to go around busting skulls or stopping crime and he most certainly was _not_ going to go around calling himself an Avenger anytime soon or ever (honestly, Loki got a little bit of secondhand embarrassment at the very idea), trouble seemed to find him more than ever now and Loki saw no other option but to take care of it himself. There was only so much idiocy that should be allowed to exist in this world, most of it being allocated to Thor, and it wasn't any time at all before the headlines were proclaiming him "The Newest Hero" and having "Turned Over a New Leaf".

Honestly, it was enough to make him want to throw up, but he settled for smacking Stark upside the head with the rolled up newspaper every time he started teasing him about it.

It's all patently ridiculous.

His routine, so treasured, changed a little bit to accommodate the fact that now he was now working on getting Thor to appreciate the merits of reading. What had started with _The Phantom Tollbooth_ had expanded to include _Harry Potter_ and _Doctor Dolittle_ and Loki knew he wouldn't _always_ win but so far, he'd been doing a pretty good job of picking out books that will get Thor to work his brain without sliding him into boredom either. That aside, it was a good excuse to see him though one he knew he doesn't necessarily need.

It was nice to have one, anyway.

Answering Tony's invite for lunch was like opening a floodgate because the next thing Loki knew (and even afterward, he wasn't really not sure how it happens), he was getting a phone call from Steve to ask if he still had cooking classes (he did) and if he'd mind company next time (he didn't) and that was how they ended up at Mai Thai together the following Tuesday. It was how they ended up discovering just how much Steve Rogers liked curry (the hotter, the better) and how as long as Loki didn't tell him what it is, he'd eat about anything if it tasted good. It was a funny thing, really, and Loki didn't know how he didn't see it before, despite the fact that by this point, he knew all of their eating habits about as well as he knew his own. Rogers liked the process, liked the way it felt to produce something from his own hands, liked to watch people eat, but to eat and enjoy it himself…that was another matter altogether.

Coconut milk, lemongrass, sriracha, giant prawns…it took hell and a half to get Steve to try anything unfamiliar and it had little to do with taste and everything to do with fear.

Loki thought, though he'd never say anything about it, that it had a lot to do like feeling out of his time and needing to connect with what he knew, clinging to the familiar with a desperation that Loki could understand. How could he not, when he does the same thing but in reverse? Instead of keeping the familiar close, his own instinct was to reject it entirely. It would be hypocritical of Loki to fault Steve Rogers when he couldn't so much as stomach boar anymore, when it reminded him of the things he couldn't keep and everything he broke.

He tried and kept trying, though (hypocritical or no), and there was a strange, warm satisfaction in the way Rogers smiled when he found something he liked, something he liked because Loki'd nagged or guilted him into trying it, despite that it wasn't apple pie or scalloped potatoes or anything that even remotely reminded him of military rations.

Loki found himself smiling more and he didn't even have to work at it.

If Loki thought that being proclaimed a hero was weird, that's nothing compared to how he felt when a veritable stampede that consisted of his brother and his friends (who somewhere along the line had become _his_ friends, and Loki'd never really had friends before like Thor had friends, not his own, and the very thought made him both delighted and terrified all at once) showed up at his door and none of them had any manners except for Rogers, who apparently had to talk Thor out of bringing a palm tree and handed over a bundle of snapdragons instead. It was tied together with a silk ribbon and Loki's gratitude was sincere if a little embarrassed; never before had he been given flowers and it flattered him to the point of shock, the sheer amount of _feeling_ it garners gifting him with absolute silence.

A shock that left him standing still, surprised and wide-eyed amidst the bustling action of the people around him who seem to have temporarily taken over his home.

Loki had barely enough time to stammer out a hello before Thor, huge and gregarious Thor, was slinging an arm around his shoulder and herding him into the kitchen. They've taken _that_ over too and Loki didn't get the chance to order them not to so much as dare lay a single superpowered finger on any of his appliances. Tony was already unpacking the bags in his arms, pulling out steaming containers enough to feed an army, and Loki rolled his eyes but insisted on getting out plates like a civilized individual because he has them for a _reason_.

He had his standards, after all.

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><p>AN2: Thank you all for reading! If you have anything at all to say, please tell me in a review!<p> 


	37. Aquamarine

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>AN: Wow, some of you guys are really bad at reading author's notes, aren't you? Let me just repeat, the story is over when there is a complete tag. Until then…free game. This is a short one again, and there's one more after this then.<p>

Sorry for the delay in updates; my apartment lease is up soon and I've been distracted by real life and moving and roommates and yeah, real life takes priority. But it should be smooth sailing from here, hopefully, without anymore stupid delays.

In other news, thank you all SO MUCH for all your feedback, comments, and favorites. It really, really honors me that this story has such a following, seriously. I really hope you enjoy!

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><p>Chapter Thirty-Seven: Aquamarine<p>

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><p>And life went on, somehow.<p>

Loki knew that it couldn't all be beautiful, that it wouldn't all be good. He didn't want to let this go, not like everything else that he'd ever turned loose from fear and spite and pride. He wanted to hold on to these things he treasured, the people and places and things that he'd learned.

To be entirely honest, he didn't have a clue how this happened or how he managed to get so lucky.

He voiced the sentiment, once, in the dark and the quiet to no one but himself and it _hurt_ because no matter what anyone said, he knew that there was something wrong because a thought like that shouldn't hurt and it _did_, and that was a night where he was so very, very close to picking up his phone and calling that number. A time ago, he might have. Instead, Loki sat upright and swung his legs over the edge of his bed and rose, shrugging on his jacket and boots and taking to the streets.

New York's never quiet, not really. There was always someone up and about no matter the time and Loki found himself grateful for it. He didn't want the solitude; it could only ever lead to brooding and thoughts too dark for comfort and Loki didn't bother paying attention to where he was going until he stopped and looked up, seeing the big, glowing A hovering far above him in the sky.

He didn't do anything special, not really. He didn't go inside, no matter how easy it might be for him, because that was not and would never be his place. Instead, Loki settled down against the wall on the side steps and leaned back. No one could stop him from doing that. The tower was still hideous, he thought, but it was a light and he needed it. He'd be on his way in a few moments, really he would, once he cleared his head a bit. That bright blue light that might otherwise be blinding felt better than the darkness and Loki let green eyes close.

Just for a second.

Just for a second.

A second turned into a minute which turned into two which turned into fifteen and Loki was dozing off. The first thing he thought when he woke was that he must look like a complete bum, especially considering that he was wearing a rather nice jacket over a soft, short-sleeved Henley and pajama pants. The second was that there was more light than there had been to start and that he was being loomed over, and Loki's instincts had him flinching backwards to plaster himself against the wall like a startled deer until he realized that it was just Thor.

…Until he realized that it was just Thor and it was still dark outside and oh, _damnit_, he was a gigantic idiot. He really, really was.

Loki didn't know what his face looked like but it must be something because Thor offered him a hand up and he was too tired to not take it, feeling the ground sway slightly under his feet. His head felt heavy and fuzzy in that weird space between sleepy and startled still and Loki didn't even want to know what kind of hour it was (too late to be awake, most certainly). He was tired enough to let himself be herded inside by a firm hand on the small of his back and bustled into the elevator. The lights were on but dim and Loki knew that people were sleeping, and he felt like this was all a terrible idea. What was he thinking?

What was _Thor_ thinking?

That was not what he'd been intending, not at all.

He remembered that he should probably protest when he found himself in a bedroom that screamed Thor, that he'd seen a few times out of curiosity but hadn't spent much time in.

He was fine, he was. He really, really was. He should go home.

He was fine.

He was fine.

Except that right now at this very minute, he wasn't fine at all and Thor _knew_ it because he booked no arguments, waving away Loki's objections in favor of asking whether he'd prefer to have the bed to himself or if he'd be okay with sharing, and Loki could cry. But only a little bit or not at all; he only let himself get really weepy when he was drunk and he's all too sober right now.

Loki didn't want to be alone and he didn't know how to say it, and he was silent long enough that Thor manages to maneuver him gently underneath the covers and crawled in next to him. It was so familiar, Loki knew this feeling, knew the body next to his almost as well as he did his own even though it had been a while, and that's okay. He'd spent quite a few of his nights as a child curled up in bed with Thor, before it became something to be embarrassed of, and it was still comforting even now, when things were still broken sometimes.

Sleeping with Thor was like sleeping next to a living, breathing heater, and Loki didn't mind it even though he ended up tucked up underneath his chin and Thor was nowhere _near_ as polite a bedmate as Tony, and ended up squashing Loki underneath his bulk not an hour later. He appreciated the sentiment and the gesture but Thor was _heavy_ and after a while, Loki didn't feel so much like he was drowning anymore.

How can he, when there was someone holding onto him so tightly that he couldn't possibly fly away?

He didn't sleep any more but remained where he was anyway, determined not to think in favor of simply feeling, even if what he was feeling happened to mostly be Thor being rude in his sleep. Still, Loki was nothing if not adaptable and it could be worse, especially when it became clear that even though it's been a while, Thor remembered this too because he held Loki like he was something precious despite his weight, one giant, heavy arm draped over his shoulders but the other bracing the back of his neck.

Loki sighed and focused on existing.

The world wasn't quiet but the night was, dark and deceptively silent from inside a silent room. Thor's room was on the top floor and quite a bit of the ceiling was glass. Loki looked up and watched the sky, all inky velvet and diamonds and silver sliver of moon.

For a brief moment, he entertained the idea that one of those diamonds was Asgard, then forced himself to disregard it immediately.

Something dark shot across the sky, something that looked, almost if you squint, like a large, fat raven.

Loki disregarded that too because the only thing he associated with ravens was Odin Allfather and he had already made his feelings on the matter clear. Loki would never see Asgard again. There was never much to hold him there to begin with. Family, he thought, and the treasure trove of knowledge that had ever been at his fingertips if only he knew how to ask. Loki thought of the woman he spent so many years calling 'mother' and his heart ached like nothing else and he found himself curling into Thor's smothering out of instinct— certainly not an inexplicable need for contact, contact that was all too willingly given.

Loki had accepted that he would never see Asgard again.

What he hadn't been able to accept, what he hadn't been able to so much as think about, was never being able to see those precious few beings who held him there. It wasn't a lot to start with but for the longest time it had been enough and he thought he had ripped it all out. Folly, he thought, for as long as he would exist, he could never stop caring. That was both the worst and best because he saw his own foolishness now for what it was: a child thinking that elimination will eliminate the hurt. That making someone else hurt would stop his own. That eliminating himself would make everything okay.

It wouldn't, he knew this now.

It never would because Loki had always cared and always loved, sometimes too much and too deeply and too easily.

Asgard was lost to him but he was not alone.

That can be enough, he told himself. That can be enough because he will _make_ it be enough, because he was not alone, because he was sane and stable enough to realize this and to realize just how close he managed to come to that edge.

It was still frightening but it was something that he could look at, and it didn't hurt that he couldn't help but feel braver next to Thor, even now. He might, under extreme duress, call it a bit of a brother complex. Any other time he'd call it good sense and leave it at that.

Those were the thoughts he was left with when his mind began to slow and quiet, and he let himself feel instead of think, surrounded by warmth and shadow.

Loki woke two hours later and extracted himself from Thor's grip, sitting up in the darkness that doesn't seem quite so dark anymore. He ought to be tired still but he wasn't, not at all, and he slid out of bed for a short walkabout. He knew the general layout of the tower and knew that Thor's floor is at the very top and knew to work his way down if he wanted to get to the common area. Barton was next, then the Captain, and right in between the floor belonging to Steve and the one belonging exclusively to Tony there was the one that consisted almost entirely of a living room and kitchen and that was Loki's goal.

He's no desire to encroach on anyone's space.

It was six in the morrow and still dark outside and if, later when the others get up, their guest is gone but in his place were plates of pancakes still fresh and steaming on the table… well.

No one was going to complain about it, though Steve insisted on a face-to-face thank you the next chance he got.

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><p>AN: Once again, apologies for my brevity, but I liked this as a standalone, and author's choice goes. Please leave a review for me if you have anything to say, or even if you'd like to scratch my back with a rake instead.<p> 


	38. Diamond

Truthfully

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><p><em>Summary: For a prompt on NorseKink:<em>

_Loki had every intention of wreaking havoc upon Midgard the moment his suicide attempt had failed. Really. He'd planned on setting cities ablaze, smashing buildings, pillaging, all of that good stuff._

_Too bad he hadn't planned on the place being so FUN._

_Destroying City Hall? Maybe if he can squeeze it in between ikebana and his Thai cooking classes. Oh, he tries for the whole supervillain thing, but is it really his fault that he really likes going to yoga and hair products that don't require massive amounts of oils that leave him feeling greasy? Is it really his fault that manicures are so damn RELAXING and that those little Asian ladies in the salon are so charmingly adorable? Besides, his therapist says that all the rage is unhealthy._

_TL;DR Loki gets a therapist and finds Earth hobbies that he enjoys in between bothering his brother and his friends._

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><p>Disclaimer: Ahahahahahaha. No.<p>

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><p>Chapter Thirty-Eight: Diamond<p>

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><p>AN: So, this is it. The finally chapter. It's been a hell of a ride and never in my wildest dreams would I ever have imagined that this story would become so big and that people would enjoy it so much. From the bottom on my heart, I'd like to thank all of you, everyone who read, everyone who favorite, everyone who reviewed. You really kept me motivated and wanting to post this, and it's because of you guys that this became so huge.<p>

Some of you have said that this was like therapy to you and honestly, you have no idea how touching that is for me. That this could help someone who was hurting in any way, make something a little better, just…it blows my mind.

So thank you. I love you guys.

**ALSO.** Because I don't want to wash my hands of this universe, I will be taking one-shot requests. I can't guarantee that I'll take them all or when they'll be written, but I will be taking them. So leave a review, shoot me a request, and if it's fun, maybe you'll see it posted up on my account here.

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><p>"Hello, Loki," Doctor Moran greeted Loki as he entered the room. The first thing she noticed was his clothing, not so much nicer as it was <em>more<em>, almost the way he'd been dressing when he'd first come to see her: not a bit of extra skin showing, as if the extra clothing would act as a shield.

The second thing she noticed was that instead of coming in the way he always had, he hovered for a few extra seconds in the doorway, just peering inside without approaching.

The third thing she noticed was that once Loki did come in, he had a very familiar figure attached to his hand.

She blinked.

"This is a surprise," she said delicately but with the warmth of welcome, watching Loki shift anxiously on his feet. Thor at his back did the same, giving his hand a deliberate squeeze.

"Thor has expressed interest before in accompanying me," Loki said quietly, tentative and shy in ways that he hadn't been in ages, "I have consented. If it isn't a hindrance to you…" He trailed off and met her eyes, watching like he wasn't sure what he was going to get in terms of her reaction.

"If you're alright with it, I'm alright with it," Caroline said, half breathless with something light and almost giddy. This wasn't something that she would have ever, ever expected. For Loki to be comfortable with her was one thing: she had never let him down, she was mortal, and she was _his_. Thor had the capacity to hurt him like she couldn't, and for Loki to feel comfortable enough, _safe_ enough to bring him with him to a place where he was often his most raw and vulnerable… Had she not been in a professional situation and had Loki not still been standing there looking terrified, she might have wept.

As it was, she got to her feet and smiled widely, approaching to give Thor's hand a firm shake.

"It's good to see you again, Thor," she said, watching Loki out of the corner of her eye. "You are welcome here." She turned to Loki and offered him a gentle look. He relaxed minutely. "I'll be right back; there's only two chairs. Hold tight, okay?"

Loki nodded, his fingers still curled around Thor's larger ones, and Caroline left the room to find another chair.

It wasn't the only reason, though, and she knew she made the right decision when she returned.

In the time that she'd been gone, Loki had lost some of the tension around his eyes and the two men were standing by the familiar chair that Loki was so fond of, warm, worn leather and slightly lumpy seat and all. The one she'd brought in was a little nicer in terms of wear and tear but Caroline had a feeling that she knew which one that Loki would prefer.

She was proven right when, after Thor had insisted on hefting it the rest of the way in amidst her own protests, Loki immediately claimed the one he was accustomed to, settling into it more delicately than he normally would. Thor flopped into the new one in a decidedly unprincely fashion, a perpetual contrast to his brother.

It had been a while since she had seen them together but Caroline was pleased to see that they looked so much better together.

Loki was nervous but it was of the situation itself, not of Thor. Thor, on the other hand, was clearly tuning in to Loki, attentive and curious and subconsciously tilting in his body towards him in a mirroring posture. Doctor Moran smiled and polished her glasses as she sat down in her own chair. The three were arranged in a triangle shape, each angled in to face the other two instead of two on one side and one on the other.

That would give them all a measure of equality and keep Loki especially from feeling like he had the potential to be ganged up on.

Once they were seated and settled, Caroline folded her hands and turned to Loki.

"How do you want to do this, Loki?" she asked, watching surprise and then a firm relief settle in his eyes, "If you'd like, I have some suggestions that you can think about. Or if you already know what you'd like, you can tell me."

"I would not mind hearing your suggestions," he answered quietly. He'd taken his hand back from his brother and had laced both in his lap.

Still anxious, then.

Expected, but something she definitely wanted to do something about.

"The first option is that we talk about the same things we normally do and your brother will be uninvolved. He may act as support for you and be an observer, but he may not be a direct participant in the conversation. Another is that we discuss some of the things that involve you both…the things that you'd still like to work out, that you'd like him to know, or if there's anything he'd like _you _to know. You would be equals in the conversation but I'd like for you to be the one to keep control and make the decisions here. This is for you; he is here to be here for you, and I am as well."

Some of the tension went out of Loki's face and his hands relaxed. His whole body seemed to unwind just a little bit, loosening and settling against the chair. He glanced to Thor, who silently raised his brows and gave a shrug.

_Your choice_, she read in his body language clear as day, _Whatever you want, I'll do_.

It made even her feel better about all of this. Not that she had any reason to doubt Loki and Thor didn't have a treacherous bone in his body, but when adding another person into the mix, there always ran the risk of Loki simply not being comfortable enough to actually say what he wanted. Caroline could do a lot of things, but she couldn't make him do anything.

The whole point was that he couldn't be forced and she didn't want to force him.

If Thor had seemed pressuring in any way at all, she might have reacted differently. As it was, she could only be pleased.

"I..." he took a breath, "I would like the second option."

It was Thor's turn to look as if he had just been clobbered in the head with something shocking and beautiful and he stared at Loki, eyes wide and a little shiny. Malachite green met thunder blue and the edges of Loki's lips tilted up.

"He wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut, anyway. Let's make it easy on him."

"You wound me," Thor rumbled back in reply, emphasizing the jest in his words with a wide smile.

"Alright, then," Caroline said, "That makes things interesting. Thor, what do _you_ want out of this?"

The blonde man shifted in his seat to meet Loki's eyes. Loki, who was watching him with blatant curiosity as to what he would say.

"I would like to understand my brother better," he answered eventually, "We speak but often times, it is draining and emotionally painful and it is difficult for either of us to say what we would like. I am not the best with words and he has admitted to being prone to growing spines." Loki didn't deny this; on the contrary, he shrugged his shoulders in what could only be a slightly sheepish affirmation. "This is somewhere he feels safe and you have done well by him. It is my hope that perhaps you can do well by _us_."

The smile that played on Loki's face now, flashing whipcrack quick before being hidden behind a hand, was no smirk or leer but something outrageously soft, sweet, and showing more than any words could. He may have been prone to lying instinctively but when he wasn't trying, he was a ridiculously expressive man, showing in his body language what he wouldn't say with words. Caroline thought that that might have a good bit to do with just how much he lied; if no one bothered to read his body, why would anyone read his words? That smile held affection, all the affection in the world, and if anyone had doubted that Loki could love, that smile would have removed all doubts.

"That's a very mature mindset," she told him and cocked her head at Loki, "And you feel the same?"

"…I do."

"Alright, then. I'm going to lay down some ground rules. The first is that when one of us is speaking, those who are not will do their best to remain silent until they are finished. That goes for you, Loki, and Thor, and for myself as well. The second is that there is to be a minimum of name-calling and heckling no matter the subject matter. You are both here to help and be helped and no one will be shamed for it. Loki will be the first to tell you that this is also draining and painful but if you're willing to continue, I will do my best to help. I need two things from you: I need your honesty and I need your trust. Can you give them?"

Thor nodded his agreement, looking a bit more nervous now but just as determined. This wasn't the kind of battle he was used to doing, wasn't used to fighting without moving, fighting himself as much as any opponent. Wasn't used fights that weren't fights, fights that were for healing rather than for winning.

He looked forward to learning.

"Loki, this is going to be a little different for you too. Can you give Thor the same trust and honesty you give me?"

It wasn't just a question so much as it was a lead-in because the answer was more than obvious in the way he shifted and avoided the blue eyes fixed on him.

"I can do my best to try."

"Your best is all that I'll ever ask from you. " It was something that she had said from the very first time they'd met and something she'd needed to repeat as often as Loki needed to hear it. Loki nodded without speaking, his expression steady. "Let's start with something easy—don't look at me like that, Loki, sometimes I _do_ mean easy when I say it." That did nothing to change the dubious look that said he clearly didn't believe her. Thor just looked like he was preparing himself to be flayed or something equally manly. "When you two were growing up, did you share a room?"

"We were together in the nursery for a little while but we did eventually get our own chambers," Loki was the one who answered, "I am unsure as to how old either of us were; it was a very long time ago."

"You had just begun to read when I left," Thor spoke up suddenly, like it was a revelation or something he hadn't thought of in a very long time, "I was dexterous enough to do my own leathers and could run my own baths, while you had already taught yourself to read."

Loki remembered it well.

He remembered how proud Thor had been, how excited he'd been to get his own room, how he'd moved all of his things into his new bedroom with glee and refused to let anyone help him. Loki also remembered how miserable that night had been for _him_. It had been the first that he could remember being alone at night but he hadn't been expecting the waves of terror that had washed over him like a tide. He'd cried silently for hours. At the time, he'd simply thought himself the coward who couldn't bear to spend the night in the dark without his brother.

In retrospect, Loki had to wonder whether some part of him remembered what had happened the last time he'd been left alone in the dark.

It was a phantom chill and he couldn't get his hands on it, but it was there. It was still there, sometimes, when he sat up in bed out of nowhere and needed desperately to turn the lights on.

He watched Thor recount the story, finding something new and odd in his tone. He almost sounded… envious in a strange way that Loki couldn't quite decipher. What would he have to be envious about? His face must have said enough because it wasn't long before Doctor Moran was watching him closely, brown eyes intent and observant.

"Loki?"

Thor quieted and Loki shifted in his chair, fingers tapping out nervous patterns into the arms.

"You were so happy," he admitted, finally, "I tried to be happy for you then. I did."

And he had.

Loki had said nothing all the days leading up to it, said nothing of how it frightened him for reasons he couldn't explain or understand, said nothing of how he wasn't happy about it at all. He had listened patiently while Thor had chattered about how much space it was and how it would be so much fun to have his friends all crowd in because there wasn't as much room in the nursery. That was what Thor had said but that wasn't what Loki heard.

All he had been able to hear was that there wasn't enough room because of _him_. All he heard was that Thor was happy to get his own space, away from _him_.

And he'd said nothing, just boxed it all up in that place where he stored everything else that made him scared and anxious. That box had always seemed so full, Loki thought, and the thought of that box overflowing scared him more than anything. How much could it take before it brimmed over and drowned him?

Loki knew exactly how much it could take.

All it taken was two words in the end.

_No, Loki_.

"I didn't like it," Thor said quietly after taking in Loki's admission, "I didn't like it at all. I cried for a week."

"…I didn't know that," Loki replied, eyeing him through lowered, dark lashes. "You told me that you were up too late playing." Thor shrugged, a little sheepish.

"And let Father know that I didn't like being by myself after I had pestered him incessantly over it? He would have—" And Thor stopped because Loki knew exactly what Odin Allfather would have done or said. He could picture the look on his face perfectly, that expression of absolute disappointment that had always made him feel about three inches tall and about as powerful, because he'd seen it himself for days afterwards. Because it had taken a good amount of time for him to be able to hide how he felt and he had always gone conspicuously red around the eyes after a crying jag. "I shouldn't have lied to you about it."

"I cannot blame you," And he didn't, "Had I been able, I would have hidden it too."

"But you shouldn't have had to," Thor insisted, looking like he wanted desperately to get out of his seat, "And I shouldn't have had to lie. He _yelled_ at you and you just stood there. And I just stood there and didn't say anything. You read books bigger than you were; you were practically a baby."

Loki bristled indignantly.

"I was not an infant," he grumbled.

"Well, maybe not," Thor amended, "But you were younger than me. And smaller than me."

_And he shouldn't have yelled at you._

Loki was the first to look away.

"It is done and over with and one can only go forward. Still, it's—" he paused and mulled over his words, "A relief. To know that I was not the only one to suffer. Thank you for telling me." He reached out, fully intending to pat Thor on the hand, but his fingers ended up caught and laced instead in a hold he didn't really want to break all that much. The mood was heavy and Loki wrangled with the desire to lighten it. "Was I the one to introduce you to smoke sugar?" He asked suddenly, tapping a finger against his chin. Before Thor could answer, he turned to Caroline to add, "That reminds me, I believe I owe you some."

"I believe you do," she said with a smile and directed his attention back to Thor, who had begun to smile himself.

"You were," he confirmed, "Though most of it ended up all over my bedroom."

"It was your fault. You distracted me."

"You were _showboating_."

"I smell a hypocrite~" Loki sing-songed, "Was it a crime for me to see if I could blow sugar as well as I blew glass?"

"It is when the both of us ended up with sugar burns," Thor's words were reproachful but his tone affectionate, "I thought Eir was going to kill us."

"Only because she thought M—Fri— _Mother _was going to kill _her_." Loki stumbled over the address and felt better when he'd chosen, something settling into place that he hadn't known had been bothering him. He could call her mother. He could. "It was good before it exploded," he said not a little bit wistfully, remembering the feeling of holding that not-entirely-round little sphere in his hands, bubble-light and clear as glass, filled with smoke. He remembered how _proud_ he'd been and how good it had felt to put that look of wonder on his brother's face. It hadn't just been wonder, it had been an honest pride.

_This is __**my**__ brother_, it had said plainly. _Look at what he can do_.

Loki had not often seen pride and it figured, he thought, that he would not recognize it until almost too late.

"You were proud of me."

"I was. I _am_."

Loki felt something inside him twist and tighten like fingers on his throat and he squeezed the calloused fingers still curled around his with a vengeance. It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough. The silence of the room only worked to make his words more noticeable.

"I am proud of you, too."

* * *

><p>When the two of them walked out of Doctor Moran's office later, they both felt raw and rather like they'd been scraped over a washboard.<p>

Loki was quiet and pensive because that was just how he got afterwards, like he's used up all his words and all he wanted was for things to be simple for a little bit. Thor just hurt and it took about twenty minutes of walking before he felt even a little bit less like crying. For those twenty minutes, he couldn't understand why Loki does this, how he can take it, how he manages having someone pull out everything vulnerable that he wants to keep hidden.

And then he looked over to the man walking beside him. Not behind him. Not in front of him. Beside him, which is something that Thor hadn't realized was so rare. He was so used to seeing Loki's back walking away from him or not seeing him at all. Loki met his eyes but didn't say a word, let his face speak for him instead: quiet, upturned lips and a raised eyebrow, and Thor _knew_.

Thor knew and felt better because now Loki knew too.

There wasn't a particular purpose or direction in their walking. There wasn't anywhere to be or anywhere to go but it was nice to just walk. Sometimes Thor took a turn and sometimes Loki took a turn and neither of them asked the other where they were going. Maybe Loki knew but Thor certainly doesn't, but if he did then he was keeping it to himself. They're just two brothers walking the streets of New York and Thor marveled because Loki looked comfortable here, like he knew this place. He knew Asgard too but he never looked comfortable.

Loki's phone beeped once or twice, a cheery little melody. He didn't answer it but instead made quick work of tapping out a text message before cocking his head and asking, finally, the first words out of his mouth since leaving the good doctor, if Thor would like to meet up with someone for frozen yogurt.

He wasn't going to object.

Angelique was by far the weirdest girl Thor had ever met in his life and that said something, considering the women that Thor knows. She was brash and noisy and couldn't seem to keep her hands off of Loki, a gesture that he bore with surprisingly good grace. Thor wondered, idly, if it was because he just didn't mind it or if it was because he was used to it and made a mental note to ask, if he remembered to remember his mental note.

Loki told him that he knew her from something called yoga which, according to his brother's friend, basically entails twisting one's body into seemingly impossible shapes. Loki rolled his eyes but Thor can believe it, especially when Angelique ("Angie, Thor, Angie!") started grumbling under her breath about how Loki is impossibly twisty and must have a skeleton of cartilage, whatever that means. It did seem like something he would be good at.

Thor hadn't ever had froyo and he had no idea how he's gone so long in this realm without it. It was apparently a regular thing for Loki because he didn't think too hard about what he wanted (cherry yogurt with graham cracker bites, mochi, and diced strawberries) as opposed to Thor, who had no idea what he wants and decided that if it all looked good, it must all taste good too. It did even though Loki looked faintly nauseous at the sight of his paper cup overflowing with gummy bears and chunks of snickers and toffee.

It was too delicious for words and gone too soon, and Thor found it impossible to look away when it became clear how easily Loki's friend reached out for him to drag him into a hug that was mostly her squeezing him around the middle and once she was gone and it was just the two of them again, Thor dared to snicker, laughing all the harder at the look of righteous indignation on Loki's face. He went red and sputtered and threatened Thor with imminent death, which might have been a little intimidating (a little!) if not for the fact that Thor knew for a fact that he wasn't serious in the slightest.

For once, Loki wasn't serious and it was beautiful.

He wasn't guarded, wasn't wary, wasn't tense and anxious and vicious.

Thor didn't know how he managed to go so long ignoring him.

They kept walking together until the sun began to go down. Neither of them got tired from the exercise and really have just been wandering around for the last couple of hours. They didn't really say much; Thor was still thinking about the session they had earlier and in his experience, Loki always went quiet and considering after his as well.

And then Loki stopped, directly underneath the branches of a reaching oak, startling Thor into stopping short. He looked worried.

"Is this…alright?" he asked as if for once, the words don't come easily.

Thor knew that he was not talking about walking around the city.

He could be talking about a lot of things, really. His life, his situation, _himself_. Thor considered all of those options and gave the answer that he could apply to all of them without thinking about it.

"If it is what makes you happy, then I can only support you."

Thor prayed that it was the right answer because it was _his_ answer and if it's wrong, he didn't know what he could possibly do. He realized, once again, just how easy it was to get it wrong and how very used to it he is, but it still stings and he doesn't want to be wrong, not here and not now. Not with Loki.

"It is not for me to say what is right for you," he continuesd, watching Loki's face, "_Is_ this right for you?"

Loki laced his hands in front of him and tilted his head up to watch the sky, full of red and orange. He didn't answer for a long while but that meant little because Thor could as good as see him thinking. Finally, finally, his lips tilted up in a smile.

It was the right answer.

"You know," he said, "I think it is."

* * *

><p>-the end does not exist-<p> 


End file.
